21st Century Schizoid Man
by silverbug28
Summary: A wannabe gangster gun nut (OC) becomes the Master of one of the haughtiest Heroic Spirits in the Throne of Heroes. No, not Gilgamesh. The other blonde with a massive ego. Let's see what happens when this goofy wack job has to fight for his life alongside history's biggest ham. Remake of Genderbent Emperors and Gallivanting Eccentrics.
1. Aqualung

**Disclaimer: This is basically the spiritual successor of Genderbent Emperors and Gallivanting Eccentrics. The plot has been changed drastically, but the characters and ridiculous zaniness that was in the original will be pretty much the same. Sorry for how long this took, but hopefully it'll make up for the wait!**

 **PS- To whichever record studio owns the rights to the cover image, please don't sue me. I have very little to give besides my pride and dignity. And believe me, they aren't worth the time wasted in court.**

* * *

 **Late August, 20XX-**

Fuyuki City has very few parks. At one point this wasn't the case. But recently there's been at least four that have been closed for renovation. It's past midnight, and one of these closed parks has a trespasser. He's sitting on one of the park benches. Well, for this location the word 'park' must be used lightly. This used to be a park. Now it's more of a construction zone. This one isn't simply undergoing renovation, it is being completely altered.

There used to be grass here, as green as an emerald. It's been torn up, in its place there is nothing but dirt exposed. The only thing left in this park that hasn't been changed is the lone cherry blossom tree situated smack dab in the middle of the property. That's what the trespasser is gazing at in wonder. He's wondering as to why the tree has been left behind.

Why was this sole tree spared?

Secretly he knows the answer. It hasn't been spared. The construction crew merely finished their shift before they could uproot it. This tree would meet the same fate as the grass. The same fate all the other trees that had once surrounded it had faced. Death. It wouldn't be replanted. It wouldn't be allowed to survive. It would be dug up and hacked into pieces. That was the destiny of this last tree. What a sad way to go.

This place used to be beautiful. Especially when all of the blossoms were blooming. These trees used to be adored. Little kids used to play around their trunks, their laughter and cries of joy echoing throughout the land as flower petals fluttered down onto their heads. Adults used to stand underneath their branches and confess their love for one another. The elderly used to sit near them and reminisce about the past. This tree used to see all of those happy memories unfold.

Now, it's only visitor was this man. This man who so carelessly tosses a cigarette near its roots. This man who guzzles from a whiskey flask as if he were dying of thirst. This apathetic, and depressing man. Somehow he has become the only one to remotely care about this tree. He doesn't understand how it came to be like this. Places like this park were considered treasures to the community. Yet now they were relics of the past.

The city doesn't have time for this cherry tree. They're going to cut it down tomorrow. It's been here for decades, but it's going to die pretty soon. An apartment complex is going to be built here. People have a need for it. They don't have a need for a cherry tree. They used to. Now they don't. Such is the fickleness of humanity.

The man continues to study the tree. Burning its image into his memory. If no one else will remember this tree, well then he'll just have to remember it for them. No. There's another option. He smirks a little at the thought of tying himself to the tree. Protesting it's destruction like so many other environmentalist types would. But he's not that kind of person. His care for this tree is purely out of a misplaced sense of empathy. He understands this tree, and only this tree.

The man gets up, and for a second a beam of moonlight displays his features. He could be called handsome, depending of course on one's taste. Despite this nothing about his was extraordinary. Eyes the same color as honey. Hair the color of straw and styled into a small ponytail. A proud Roman nose. A mouth that seemed to be permanently fixed into a smirk. Nothing was abnormal about this man's looks. Yet despite this he didn't seem exactly normal. Mainly because of what he was currently doing.

He was holding the tree. At some point he had taken the gloves off that had covered his hands. And now he was touching the tree gently, as one would caress the cheek of a lover. No, he was not going to start humping the tree. For once his intentions were pure. "Mutata in manibus meis". Latin. A language dead to all but doctors, scholars, and weirdos. This man was definitely a weirdo. The words he spoke roughly translated into 'Change in my hands'. An odd sentence, but one that made sense in context.

The man's very core flared up with energy. In his mind a bolt was being pulled back, the bolt of a rifle preparing to fire. "Analyze. Good. Now, Reinforce." What was this man doing? He was using magic. Not the Houdini kind, nor the sleight of hand tricks seen in Vegas. Genuine magic. This was something more akin to blessing the tree. He was creating a miracle.

The spells he used were somewhat complex. Structural analysis was the easier one. A technique hardly used, but one that was invaluable to those who knew how to properly use it. The other spell was far more difficult. Reinforcement. It was harder to learn, but with practice it was one of the most flexible spells possible. He could make the tree bloom instantly if he wanted it to. He could make the flowers more beautiful or more productive with their pollen dispersal. Or he could do what he was doing now.

This man was giving the tree a second chance. He was making it invincible. Perhaps that is a hyperbole. The tree could certainly die at the hands of fire. He could make it resistant to such a fate, but he couldn't make it impervious to flame. Though he wasn't worrying about fire. What he was doing was making the tree able to stand against the men with chainsaws and hatchets that would undoubtedly arrive in the morning. With this single spell the man had made this tree defiant even to something like a bulldozer. It would resist. It would rebel.

The man gasped at the effort such a task took. Normally such a feat would be simple for him. He was far from an expert at such things, but he was certainly not a novice. However, right now the man wasn't in the best of shape. He was already exhausted beforehand, having had little sleep over the past few days. But this was something that could not be helped.

Originally he was simply going to walk away and let it die. But something inside him railed against such inaction. He couldn't allow himself not to stand up. The tree was more than a simple plant to him. It was a mirror. The man straightened his posture, wiped the sweat from his brow, and began to leave the park.

* * *

 **Chapter 1- Aqualung**

You know, it's a bit sad that Japan's changed so much.

There's still that constant clash between the past and the future. But it's become less pronounced as time's gone on. The future has slowly advanced. History has been forgotten. Innovation is king. What does that make a guy like me? Am I progressive, or am I conservative? An antique or a greenhorn? Don't know. Don't really care.

I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing. Living in the present. I take a deep swig from my whiskey at the thought. An informal toast for all those souls unfortunate enough to be regretting the past or panicking over the future. Thankfully I've avoided both of those fates.

Walking late at night is strangely calming. There are less people around, and the few that are out at this time tend to keep to themselves. Which suits me just fine. The lack of crowds brings with it a lack of chatter. It lets you hear everything that goes on in the city. A car horn honking in the distance. Some J-pop song playing from a guy's headphones. A homeless man begging for change. It's all practically music to my ears. Just got to add in a baby crying and a dog barking and the symphony would be complete.

This is the heartbeat of the city. It's drowned out during the day when everyone's too busy to hear it, but at night it's prominently on display. Then there are the visual aspects of the city. Neon signs. Streetlights. Cigarette smoke. It's beautiful. In the same way a heaping pile of shit is. But hey, you have to look on the bright side. At least it's better than the city's odor, which smells quite similar to the aforementioned pile of shit.

I keep walking down the street. Occasionally crossing it, not even looking both ways to check for traffic. I'm tired. Exhausted even. I could really use a good night's rest. Unfortunately I know that tonight isn't going to be a restful night. I have places to be and people to see. A few minutes of walking and I've finally reached my destination.

An odd building, quite unlike any other building in the city. My Batcave. It lacks both the beauty of a traditional Japanese home and the marvelous appearance of a western style mansion. Yet it's still considered a home. Or at least a house. The fact that it's made entirely out of concrete makes it seem more akin to a safe house rather than a comfy home. Perhaps the word 'shelter' would be the best word to describe this Spartan looking building. If it hadn't been a gift, I would have demolished it years ago and built something anew.

A nine foot high metal fence surrounds the property the building is situated on. It lacks any ornateness, just like the house it protects. Home sweet home. I have to put a code into the gate's keypad before I can enter. I'll take a second of inconvenience over a lifetime of regret. As the saying goes, better safe than sorry.

Between the gate and the building there's the yard. It's quite spacious in comparison to other homes in the area. Something I can't help but be prideful of, as petty as it sounds. A pathway connecting the house to the front gate splits the yard clean in half. I slowly shuffle down that path, the sound of my footsteps echo off into the distance. I make it my mission to take a swig from my bottle every few steps.

Eventually I'm at the front door. Another code is entered into the door's keypad. Another inconvenient moment of button pushing. Another lock clicking open. The first of many. Now here's the real fun part. I have to awkwardly fish around in my pants' pockets. It would be easier if I put the whiskey bottle down, but I refuse to part with it. Liquid courage will always be my best friend.

After a moment of searching, I've finally found it. A keyring containing several dozen keys of various designs. Now to figure out what the right one is. In the dark. Should have left the floodlights on. Screw the neighbors and their need for eight hours of sleep. It takes a moment to identify the correct key, but eventually I get lucky. Hopefully my luck will last.

Four more correct keys and the door's actually unlocked. A quick turn and the lack of a resulting _click_ informs me that I'm wrong. 'Gotcha bitch'. It's almost as if the door's speaking to me now. Maybe I should stop drinking, I'm starting to imagine things. With the fifth correct key inserted, the door is actually open. I stumble inside and close it behind me. Then I have to go through the tedious task of locking it all.

Unsurprisingly the house is far from what could be considered neat. Unlike most Japanese homes there's no foyer that leads to the living room. Instead the living room is the first thing you see once you enter through the front door. The open kitchen is the second thing you see. Sadly neither rooms are in the best of shape.

Various books, both hardcover and paperback, are scattered haphazardly around the living room. Some are stacked on the floor, others are tossed in piles in various corners of the room. Newspaper clippings are tacked randomly on the walls, with headlines ranging from 'England's Greatest Marksman Arrives in Japan' to 'Indo-American Forces Destroy Terrorist Base'.

Sporadically tacked up next to them are various movie posters, all with the common theme of being mobster related.

Leftover dishes of takeout are covering the dining table in the kitchen. Even worse are the dozens of empty bottles of liquor that are not only on that table, but virtually everywhere in both rooms. On the couch, in the armchair, on the coffee table, even stacked around the computer desk hidden in the farthest corner of the room.

They look like targets in a shooting range with how they're lined up on the kitchen counters. And several are stacked up like bowling pins on the tile floor. It doesn't take much imagination to assume they're probably located all over the house itself. Cigarette butts are scattered around on the ground, probably because I don't even care enough to own an ashtray.

The room smells of tobacco smoke, cheap alcohol, and body odor. A pleasant concoction if there ever was one. It's safe to say I hardly have company over. In my opinion the messy state of the house actually adds character. It makes the house feel positively alive. As if it is a character in its own right. A stark contrast to the house's outside appearance.

I look around my house as if I've just seen it for the first time. Really that isn't too far from the truth. I've been away from home for a good three days. The grumbling coming from my stomach tells me I'm hungry. Alcohol only sustains you so far.

I guzzle down the rest of my drink rather sloppily, wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve, and toss the bottle into a garbage can in the corner. It lands inside with a satisfying _clink._ Shaq would be proud.

I then proceed to awkwardly stumble into the kitchen. It's not that exciting. I'm not reenacting that laser scene in Mission Impossible. I'm just making my way to the fridge. Albeit by tipsily tiptoeing my way past all the junk I've gathered over the years.

I plop into a chair at the dining table and give myself a moment to catch my breath. The fact that I need one causes me to feel a little bit of shame. You know that kind of shame you feel when you use the last piece of toilet paper in a public bathroom? Yeah. I feel like that right now.

I get back up and make my way to the freezer. A few minutes later and I've microwaved myself a TV dinner. A beer is pulled out of the fridge to compliment it.

The food's unappealing but since I'm hungry I force it down. It's some type of meat patty along with dehydrated mashed potatoes and corn. The important factor is the price of it being really cheap. I suppose that's the only way they can sell them, since the meat's like cardboard and the potatoes like sawdust. The corn's ok. For frozen corn. Yes, I just made a random critique of a TV dinner that may or may not have been expired. Do TV dinners expire? Another question I must ask my magic 8-ball when I get a chance.

Still, at least it's food, no reason for me to complain. I mean, I'm still going to complain, I just don't really have a reason to. Never really could understand those gourmet chef types that think taste has anything to do with a meal. How long it sustains you is the thing that matters. Whether or not it has paprika on it or if it's baked at 350 degrees to perfection are definitely not important.

My meal finished, I offer a satisfied belch. And that's when my cell phone starts beeping. The alarm I had set a few hours prior had just gone off. "Well, looks like it's time to go."

I glance at one of my newspaper articles on the wall. The headline stands out even among the rest. "Massive Spike in Homicides around Fuyuki". Pretty ominous stuff, if you ask me. There's a lot behind that title, and most of it is lost on the average person.

They'd read it and probably think 'damn Yakuza' or something along those lines. I wish that were the case. Handling the Fujimuras is easy peasy. Hell, handling any of the gangster bosses in this country is easy. Even the boys in Ikebukuro aren't that unreasonable. The only one I consider a pain in the ass is Gonzou, and he isn't that bad. Sure he's a cold-hearted, manipulating, mother "lover" but that's kind of what you have to be in his line of work. Sadly this is a bit bigger than gangsters.

A part of me wants to freshen up before I leave. I've just gotten here and I already have to head out again. But I know I can't waste the time. If I go and shower and change clothes I'll end up procrastinating with this, and believe me this isn't something I can afford to hesitate on.

The pair of gloves that cover my hands are removed for the second time this night. I won't be putting them back on for quite some time. There's no need to worry about fingerprints. With their departure the flesh of my hands was laid open for all to see. The sight was less than pretty. They say there's a lot you can tell by looking at someone's hands. And I don't mean that kindergarten bullshit about the line in your palm telling you how long you'll live.

Some people had calluses that covered their hands. A sign that they were hard laborers. On the other hand (terrible pun intended) people with delicate hands may be used to a comfy upper class lifestyle. Or at least have the time to apply a lot of lotion. Well then, what did my hands tell the curious observer? Covered in bruises, cuts, and burns, they looked like they'd just been used to dig my way out of a battlefield. The hands of a survivor.

I activated my magical circuits. I kneeled down and placed the palm of my hand to the floor. "Analyze." I almost whispered these words. I'd been waiting for this moment, anticipating it for days. This simple spell took less out of me then what I did in the park, mainly because I was only searching for something in the floor, not actively looking for the weaknesses of a tree. Weaknesses that I ended up fixing.

What is it that I'm looking for? Oh, nothing that important. Just the tools of my trade. I can't do anything without them. It'd be like a carpenter without a saw, or a plumber without a wrench. Or, my favorite comparison, a surgeon without a scalpel.

I wouldn't be able to go back from here. This was the beginning of the end. Everything I've been preparing for. It's all going to culminate on this night. Good. I've been waiting far too long for this to happen. I can't help but smile at the thought. It's all going to go to hell so fast.

The spell reveals what I'm searching for. A hidden compartment in the floor. One of many, and one whose location I'd forgotten. This one was the most important. It contained a suitcase. One made of solid titanium. Nothing short of explosives would breach it.

There should be a place to grab somewhere around here. Here? No. Ah, finally. It's here. I pull the floorboards up, revealing the compartment I was looking for. The light from the microwave glistened off of the case's surface, granting me enough visibility to admire my reflection. Same bags underneath my eyes. Same unshaven mess. Same bloodshot eyes. But at least for once those eyes looked excited.

I pulled the case out, and it opened at my touch. Mainly because it recognized me. No, it didn't have a fingerprint scanner. I'm just good with metal. As weird as that sounds. The case had a few noteworthy things. Boxes of bullets. Several suppressors. Spare magazines for a gun. You know, the usual generic stuff. The main attraction was of course the firearm this was all for. A tiny little handgun. The Beretta Pico. At one point it was "the thinnest .380 semiauto handgun on the market". Those words being stolen straight from some shitty advertisement. Beretta, please don't sue me for copyright infringement.

Still I liked the Pico. For one simple reason. "Come on Pico, let's make you famous for more things besides gay cartoon porn." Yes, the references. Oh, the references. Just think about how hilarious it is to say to someone "You just got shot by a gay little boy bitch." Including a comma or not after the word 'boy' being something of a personal preference.

I closed the case up again, it locked on its own. The clock on my wall read 12:43 A.M. It was the 'witching hour' period of the night. Where everything supernatural was supposed to go on. Perfect time for another mage to screw around with things they shouldn't. I went into my garage through a side door in the kitchen. The weapon's case in my hand of course. The pistol was a precaution more than anything. If everything went well I wouldn't even have to draw it. Though the odds of that happening were never in my favor.

The garage was spotless in comparison to the house itself. Which wasn't much to say, all things considered. At least I didn't trip finding the light switch. If I had I probably would have broken my neck or something. Not really an honorable way to die. The garage door opened with the press of a button. There are some things done better with technology than magic. The garage opened up to the backyard of the house, which was mainly just a driveway with another password locked gate. It'd take a moment to open.

Boundary fields be damned, they didn't tell people you meant business. Big iron gates with pointy spikes on them told people you damn well meant business. Besides if I set up a field to keep people away it'd keep everyone away. Including the Girl Scouts that sell me snickerdoodles. How was I supposed to live without snickerdoodles?! I did set up a different sort of field, but nothing would happen unless I activated it myself. Which hopefully wouldn't need to happen. It was a pain in the ass to handle.

With the gate finally open all I had to do was get in my vehicle and take a short drive down the street. Aforementioned vehicle was an ominous looking utility van. Seriously, it almost made me want to paint 'Free Candy' on the side to complete the look. I wasn't a dedicated enough actor though. And I really didn't want to grow a pencil 'stache.

I was anxious the whole drive. Not because of the destination but because of the ride itself. The suitcase sat in the passenger seat, I could have tossed it in the very back of the car but it didn't seem necessary. Unfortunately I could think of nothing but police lights the entire drive. Getting pulled over by a cop was not the type of setback I needed right now. Granted I didn't need any, but I'd take something like a flat tire over a police interrogation any day.

Luckily nothing happened. Well I did run into a pothole, but that's not really exciting enough to mention. Even though I already did mention it. I'd made it to my destination without much incident. It was a blatantly abandoned building. At one point in time it might have been a prestigious house. The property value must have been pretty nice back in the day. Sadly it was now just another neglected building that should have been demolished.

The reason I was here was simple. My target was here. It's supposed to be the Matou representative. The Matous being a mage family that used to live around here. They vanished a while back, and I'd heard some rumors they were in Russia of all places. Guess they had a fondness for vodka. I can relate. It certainly tasted better than sake. Damn, I'm salivating now.

Once upon a time this house used to be owned by the Second Owner family in Fuyuki. They'd left it here to rot for a few years. Hopefully I wouldn't get tetanus or some shit by going into it. I doubled back and parked a block away from the manor. Then I exited the van. It took all of two seconds open the case and load the Pico. A suppressor found its way screwed onto the threaded barrel. I tossed a few spare magazines into my pockets for good luck. I was hoping this wouldn't be messy. I hated going to the drycleaners at this time of night. Too many questions, and unfortunately my most common answer ended up being 'I spilled a bunch of marinara sauce on myself'. Because of this most of the neighborhood seemed to think my name was Boyardee.

I locked up the van and made my way to the house. The Pico holstered at my waist and covered by the jacket I was wearing. The minute long walk from my van to the house ended up being worse than the drive here. Images of a beat cop wandering upon me flowed through my mind. They faded away when I made it to the front gate.

Here's where I had a few options. The first was to hop the fence. It was old so I could have maybe even bended or broken some of the bars off. The second option was to tediously attempt to pick the gate's lock, then proceed to stealth roll into battle taking my enemy by surprise. Perhaps it could even have involved the use of a cardboard box, or maybe a hay bale. The third option was to start shooting and just not stop. Extra points for screaming like a banshee while doing so. The fourth was probably the best, but also the most boring. It involved simply opening the gate that was apparently unlocked. I picked option four.

The other problem I could have was dealing with the enemy's boundary field. Luckily, or unluckily depending on your view, I couldn't sense a field. Which either means there wasn't one, or that I was so pathetic I couldn't even feel one. So I was either overestimating my opponent, or I was outclassed. A pleasant thought if there ever was one.

I didn't have time to think about it anymore. I rushed onto the property and to the manor's front door. A moment passed where I considered breaching through it. Then I realized you should never breach through the front door. So I shimmied my way into a broken window.

Immediately I felt as if something was wrong. There was a harsh scent of blood in the air. Whether it was human or not was impossible to judge. I could have probably licked it later to find out, but that would've risked the chance of contracting all sorts of fun diseases. The other thing wrong with the house, besides the feel of prana in the air, was the voice I could hear quite clearly.

"Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill.

Let each be turned over five times, simply breaking asunder the fulfilled time.

Let silver and steel be the essence.

Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation." The voice sounded somewhat feminine, it was too high-pitched to be a man. What it was saying meant only one thing. I was already too late.

I sprinted in the direction of the voice, trying my best to muffle my footsteps as I did so. The low lighting made it difficult to tell where I was going, but I could make out a flight of stairs in front of me. The voice wasn't on the floor I was on and I could hear it coming from the direction I was running. That could only mean they were on one of the upper floors. After rushing up the stairs I barreled down a hallway in front of me. The voice had to be on that floor. Not only was it getting louder, but the feeling of prana usage was getting closer as well. It was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.

Charging ahead through the darkness brought me to a single door. It was a dead end, there was no way the voice was coming from anywhere but there.

"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!" That was the last line needed. No time to think about stealth. I kicked the door open. Then I ran in like an idiot. Full on charging at them like a bull that saw red. Or like an obese man that was told McDonald's was having a sale on Chicken McNuggets. Whichever metaphor works best.

They're shorter than I was expecting. Meaning I was in fact dealing with a woman. Or a midget. Perhaps Frodo was my enemy. As a result of this height difference, I pretty much overpowered them in all of three seconds. Which led us to a very awkward situation. I'm on top of them. Pinning them to the ground. Sadly I don't take the time to examine their features before introducing myself. If I had I probably would have avoided looking really creepy.

"Bite the pillow, I'm going in dry." I don't know why I said it. Maybe it's because I felt it fit the scenario. Maybe because I thought it would stun the mage so they wouldn't retaliate by launching a lightning bolt at my face. Or maybe because my fucking target was supposed to be a fucking busty purple-haired woman and not a fucking little boy. Granted, saying that to an attractive woman would be almost as bad. It would probably make me look like some mangy serial rapist. And my name wasn't even Bill! However, it wouldn't have been as bad as saying it to this kid. Especially considering I made Boku no Pico references earlier. I've all but condemned myself. Holy shit. Don't make me sit in the chair Chris Hansen. I was joking, I swear!

Well on the bright side I could at least conclude that he was in fact a Master. Even in the dimly lit room I could see the Command Spells on the back of his hand. I also had a good look at his face. His hair was curly, it looked a little like seaweed in how it was styled. Except it was blue. As were his eyes, a cerulean blue. I didn't know how his hair was blue, but I didn't question it. Magic. Or hair dye. Whichever one made more sense. Oh, I should also mention the expression on his face was a look probably only seen before by parish priests. An expression that was a mix of confusion, terror, and anxiety. The worst part is, I was probably more confused than the kid.

I didn't know whether to let him go and risk getting incinerated by some voodoo magic shit he'd inevitably pull out of his ass (being a mage and all), or to stay in that position and risk getting registered as a sex offender in the foreseeable future. My answer was taken from me. In the form of a knee slamming straight between my legs. Kudos kid. I probably would have done the same if our roles were reversed. Unfortunately I was now the victim of one of man's greatest punishments. A blow to the crotch.

I fell beside the boy, wheezing in pain and unable to comprehend what had just happened. A few seconds went by and I realized I'd just gotten outplayed by a kid whose balls probably hadn't even dropped yet. Well that didn't do anything good for my self-esteem. Next time I'd just shoot first and ask questions later. Or at least stealth karate chop my target. Hell of a lot more refined than charging headfirst into the danger zone.

Surprisingly enough he didn't cast a spell at me. Instead he scurried backwards into a dark corner of the room. Well that was just peachy. I had unintentionally mentally scarred a small boy for the rest of his life. At least I could cross that off my bucket list.

"The Matou was supposed to be a woman with purple hair." He didn't answer me. Hell I didn't blame him, he was probably trying to become one with the shadows or some shit. It was probably a better choice than answering your assailant in this kind of situation.

I decided not to apologize. That'd probably have made it worse. It'd show I felt regret over my actions. Granted not showing regret made me seem like an experienced pedophile. What the hell was this situation I'd gotten myself in?! You were supposed to be some big breasted waifu, not a little boy! This is like the ultimate form of catfishing right here!

Fortunately, I was interrupted from my thoughts. It happened just as I started to smell the faint scent of urine. Ewww. My salvation came in the form of a bright light that covered everything. It was so intense that I could see it even with my eyes closed. Then it was gone. One second the room was bathed in a purifying light, the next, it was concealed in shadows once again. Dammit Jesus! Go bother someone else! Oh, wait, it made more sense that it was the kid's servant. Well damn. I didn't dare to so much as breathe. The thing that I'd come here to prevent. It had happened. The final servant had been summoned. And I'd just unintentionally mentally molested their Master. Oh boy. I'm screwed, aren't I?

* * *

 **AN: I'm not going to assume everyone's read the first story, so I'll go ahead and explain a few things. The setting of this is basically the Fate/Stay Night universe, however there's a few big changes. Those will be revealed later down the line, all you need to know for now is that the plot takes place somewhere between the current year and 2030. I'm going to make it as ambiguous as possible because to be quite honest it isn't that important. Plus it'll give me some leeway in avoiding anachronisms. Yay for that! There's also going to be various elements from the real world in Fate/Extra as well. Think of this as an AU showing what would happen if instead of the Moon Cell, Extra's plot involved a traditional Fuyuki style war. As such, all of the characters are going to be taken from Fate/Extra and Fate/Extra CCC. Besides my OC of course. He's in there to spice things up.**

 **To those of you who did read the original story: thank you so much for sticking with me! As you can see this is somewhat altered from the original example I showed. I changed it for a number of reasons, the main one being the quite constructive criticism I got from Server lock. To him/her I can only say this "thank you for bringing up what you did, I almost made Dante even edgier without even realizing it". Oh and hopefully this rendition is somewhat more satisfactory than the depressing demo I showed off.**

 **Thanks for reading! Please criticize the hell out of it so I don't end up doing something stupid by accident. Your opinions help keep me in check.**


	2. Foxey Lady

**Disclaimer: This chapter mentions way too many diseases. I do not know why. I just ended up including them for some reason. Maybe I watched too many episodes of House while writing this?**

* * *

 **Chapter 2- Foxey Lady**

A gasp comes from the boy's corner. It's kind of amusing he didn't expect his Servant to show up. Probably means he's new to this sort of thing. My eyes readjust to the room's lighting and I'm finally able to take notice of our new 'guest'. It takes only a quick glance to realize the figure that had appeared was that of a girl's. She has blonde hair that is tied up in some type of bun with a red ribbon. The clothing she wears is strange to say the least. She's wearing a red and white dress with gold trim. The red matches the red of a rose, while the white is like that of pure snow.

On her shoulders she has what seem to be epaulettes. They don't really match the dress. She seriously needs a new fashion designer. For shoes she has high heels. It seems she also has some type of armored shin guard on her legs too. A useless place for armor. Especially when considering it's the only protection her outfit provides. The most absurd part of her attire is the fact that her dress has see-through sections that show a portion of her back and rear. Now that I think about it, maybe that's why the kid gasped.

She slowly turns around to face me. Her eyes are a bright shade of green. Like that of a jade statue. Or an emerald jewel. Her expression is questioning but the smile on her lips can almost be called an arrogant smirk. It gives me two distinct impressions of her. The first, that she's just as confused by this as the boy. The second, she's going to be a pain in the ass to handle. Looking at her hair again, I realize she has something the Japanese call an ahoge. Or, in the language of my fellow foreigners, a cowlick. Oh and remember how her dress actually shows off her ass? Well the front does too. Even more so than the back. The entire front of her dress is translucent. To the degree that I can see her underwear. Panty shots for days.

"I ask of you, are you my Master?" She says this as if she's asking a rhetorical question. As if my answer doesn't matter. Apparently she hasn't noticed the dude in the corner. Or maybe she's trying not to notice him? On account of him pissing his pants. Is this considered child neglect?

"A … woman? Where's Caesar?!" Her eyes widen in confusion at the question. Or perhaps she's confused because she just realized there's a little kid in the corner.

"I'm your Master." I ignore the Matou's question, instead focusing on the Servant's. It's easy to say. If I don't go along with this she'll probably kill me. That moment of confusion is gone from her expression, and replaced with one of acceptance. She bought it so easily. Granted there wasn't any reason for her to object. The only other option for her Master was a child. Said child chose that time to offer some valid commentary to the situation.

"You dick! You can't just do that!" He says this with more venom than a rattlesnake's bite. Unfortunately for him, I could. Quite easily actually. On account of one simple fact. I was a Master also.

The image of a fasces had carved itself onto my upper back two months ago. It was divided into three pieces. That of the fasces itself, a bundle of wood with an axe sticking out of the side. Along with a laurel wreath, divided into two sections and surrounding the fasces in all its glory. How do I know what it looks like when it's on my back? Simple. Four uncomfortable hours trying to look at it in the mirror. At first I thought I had some weird skin rash. Mainly because all I could make out was some bleeding and a bunch of red lines. It took me a while to realize I could just take a picture of my back and look at that for reference, and then after that I'd practically fainted at the revelation. I'd probably been among the first chosen to partake in this bloodbath. I just hadn't summoned a Servant. Didn't really want to. Looks like I didn't have the choice anymore.

The moment I'd declared myself to be her Master the Command Spell had started burning. To the point where I would assume I was on fire if not for the sheer illogical nature of such an assumption. Oddly there was no pain. Simply warmth. It signaled something had occurred. "Hot damn! That actually worked?!" I bust out in a fit of laughter.

"You bastard! I'll kill you for this!" And the kid starts screaming threats and obscenities my way. I'm really questioning where a little boy learned all of these words. Aw, who am I kidding? The Internet exists for a reason. Our third wheel, the girl, looks so terribly confused now. I can tell her brain's trying so desperately hard to understand this odd situation.

Well I suppose I could be a gentleman and explain what the hell is going on, buuuut. I kind of want to have a little insurance first. "I'm your Master right?"

She looks at me in a perplexed manner, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her train of thought was probably derailed more than a few times. "Mmm… sure?"

A smirk found itself plastered across my face. "Contract complete?" She just nodded, glancing at the blue haired boy. I could tell she was questioning who her Master was really was. She's so perplexed that if the kid had actually objected with a coherent argument she might have actually listened to him.

Luckily he's acting like a total brat. By this I mean he's essentially throwing a temper tantrum on the floor, tears streaming down his face and all. It's quite a pathetic sight. Not that pleasant on the ears as well. He's screaming about how it isn't fair, and how I need to do something to myself that's quite anatomically impossible. So of course I do something that any responsible adult would do in a similar situation. I pistol whipped the sonofabitch.

Oh I can already hear the complaints. How could you do something so awful?! He's only a little boy! Think of the children! Shut the hell up. He smells of piss and his tears were getting my boots wet. And besides, it was a great sacrifice to smash the grip of my handgun on his face. It's now covered in snot and blood. That's not cool, man.

"Hey can you cart this guy out of here. I don't want to touch him. He kind of smells."" I point at the boy for emphasis. She looks down at the boy's unconscious form. Then she looks back up at me. Her hands go to her hips. Oh jeez, that's never a good sign.

"No." Straight to the point I see. Well at least she's not tossing any flowery language my way about how I was a monster for hurting little kids. I would have had to shot him just to prove a point. That point being that I'm actually being nice to the little man.

"Well I'm not going to pick him up, I might get a disease or something." Can't be too sure. He could have syphilis. Or cooties. Definitely don't want cooties.

"I am not picking up a child that defecated himself." You cannot be serious. He couldn't have shit … correction the smell just hit me. What the hell man. What the hell. Not just number one, but number two as well. There better not be some secret number three that ends up coming out next. I'll just decide to cleanse it all in a purifying flame if that happens.

"Eh, just throw him out the window. I don't want to have to carry him down the stairs." Perhaps I was too convincing with this deadpan line, as she actually goes to follow through with my request. "I was joking."

She frowns at me. "I cannot see the humor." Oh great, I summoned a critic. I sigh and look down at the kid. He stirs a little, but remains in his comatose state. Maybe I can roll him down the stairs? It'll take longer to get out of here, but I won't have to touch him.

The Heroic Spirit just watches me. That's somewhat rude of her. It's impolite to stare. I nudge the kid with my foot. Unfortunately he doesn't wake up. "What class are you?"

She blinks owlishly at the question, clearly wondering what I'm up to. "Saber." Wow, that's beyond perfect. Not only did I steal the kid's Servant, but I stole the supposed strongest class of Servant from him. Suck on that punk.

"You got a sword or something?" Or something. She pulls out this twisted corruption of what a sword should be. It's a crimson color, and looks far too impractical to be of much use. Screw it, if it's sharp I can use it.

"Can you cut a circle around him?" There's an unasked question in her eyes. She doesn't bother to ask, instead humoring my ridiculous request. Halfway through the circle and she's realized what my plan is. It's not as bad as tossing him out the window but it's still pretty bad. For him, not for me. I stomp down hard on the floor before she can stop slicing through the wood. Of course it's old and unstable. Of course it's not going to support the kid's weight. Of course he's going to plummet to the ground floor, leaving a nice new hole behind where there was once wooden floorboards.

I clap my hands together as if I'm dusting them off. "Well then that's taken care of. Let us be off." I strut out of the room without waiting for a response. She follows without a word. "Oh wait, almost forgot!" Then there's the awkward moment in which I have to go back into the room. Safe to say she looks a little peeved at me as I hastily push my way past her. What have I forgotten? Well the answer to my first question. Is it human blood or not?

One floor licking later and I have an answer. "Nope, that's definitely pig's blood. Which means I might not become hepatitis positive after all." That's an important thing to be grateful for. I take notice of another necessary component of the summoning circle. No not the priceless jewels scattered around. Those are worthless. I'm talking about the catalyst. It's still in the middle. Surrounding it is a bunch of Satanic looking runes that probably would be more fitting in a secret Bilderberg conference. Or at a frat party. Such is the summoning circle, a cross between a kindergarten's doodles and a devout follower of Baphomet's sickening art. Though I'm getting off topic. Squiggly lines interest me far too much.

Regardless of the circle itself, the catalyst is actually really boring. I'd expected something cool, preferably decorated in all sorts of bling. Instead it's just a rusty, dull dagger. Unless it's made from the fang of a dragon or something it's pretty bland in my opinion. "This. This is what summoned a famed hero of legend?" What a total rip off. Regardless, I still steal it. Carefully pocketing the dagger to avoid getting tetanus. You know the old saying, "Finders, keepers. Losers, weepers." Hey, despite it being seemingly useless I can still probably use it later to distinguish my new Servant's identity. Oh heck, who am I kidding? I'm totally planning on turning it into some sort of back scratcher.

I ignore the distastefully expression on my companion's face. She looks like she wants to protest my theft, or perhaps she wants to protest how I pushed my way pass without so much as an "excuse me". Depends really on how messed up her moral code is. Of course I pretty much brush her aside. I don't have time to deal with petty squabbling. There's an unconscious little kid waiting for me. Shiiiiittttt. That sounded so wrong.

The journey throughout the house is one filled with tension. I can feel her slowly edge herself closer to me, as if she's waiting for me to make a wrong move. I can also feel her slowly inch her way into my mind through the mental link we now share. She's doing it in a way she probably finds discrete. Though subtlety's not something you can really have while forcing your way into someone's head. I do my best to block her out, and instead focus on not stubbing my toe in the dark corridors of this mansion. Of course I'm also trying to figure out where the kid must have landed. Though that's a side project right now. Not stubbing my toe is priority.

Eventually we stumble across him. Or rather I trip over him and smash my face into the floor. Ah karma, we meet again old friend. Saber does her best to stifle a laugh. I don't really blame her, if the tables were turned I'd certainly be chuckling at her expense. Somehow the boy's still not awake. I kind of hope I didn't put him into a coma. That would be inconvenient. Speaking of inconvenient, I'm probably going to have to carry him out of here now. You know what? No. I'm going to drag him out. That way I don't have to worry about getting any filth on me.

Saber doesn't even see fit to comment on this. I'm betting she's trying desperately to come to terms with this situation. Hey, at least I've given her the most memorable summoning she's ever had. That's something to consider.

We're out the gate and at my van before she speaks. I open the back of it and let go of the kid. I'm going to have to pick him up to get him into the van. Why me? "What is going on?" There's a moment in which I speculate ignoring her, but I brush the idea aside. It wouldn't be wise to keep her in the dark forever. She'd probably assume I was some weird child molester or something. Goddamn this van. For a moment there's no words shared between us. I don't know how to begin my tale, and I don't know how she'll react to any of it. The unknown is something I'd rather avoid. So I suppose it's best to start simple.

"Dante." The silence if broken. A perplexed expression forms on her face. I answer the unasked question. "It's best if I introduce myself first. The name's Dante, Dante Di Prinzi." I hold out my hand for her to shake. "Just Dante would be preferable."

For a brief moment she looks at my hand as if it were a snake coiled and waiting to bite. It's obvious she's suspicious, I'd be surprised if she weren't. That look of hers fades though, and it's replaced with a smile. Not the reaction I was expecting, but not something I can find fault with. "You may call me Saber."

Her hand grasps my forearm instead of the palm of my hand. I do the same in order to match her, then we shake. Once, twice, three times. It's stiff and awkward, but it's still a signal of camaraderie. "You learn that from Hollywood?"

She frowns at me. "What?"

"The forearm shake. I'm pretty sure they didn't do that in Ancient Rome."

Her hands go to her hips. "How would you know anything about Roma?"

I frown at her. "I've read a few books. What about you?" She stands there in complete silence. The look on her face is identical to that of a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It dawns on me what she's just exposed. "Wow, you're Roman."

She looks at me sheepishly for a second, clearly embarrassed she revealed such an important piece of trivia. But it passes just as quickly. Replaced by a look of pure pride. "Yes, I am Roma. For Roma is everything that is good in the world." This line is said with such nationalistic fervor that it'd make Mussolini blush like a schoolgirl. I can't help but break out in a fit of laughter. It's apparently an unexpected response, as she again widens her eyes in confusion.

"Wow, you're a total ham."

She frowns at this, but before she can protest the apparent insult I move closer to her. Instead of backing away she meets my challenge by getting closer to me. We end up in each other's face. It's not comfortable, in fact it's incredibly awkward, but to back off would be to admit defeat. I scan over her face, quietly examining her features for any indication as to who she is. I can't come up with a good conclusion. The blonde hair and ridiculous dress really throw me off.

Which means one thing. She was most likely formed as a representation of what her legend embodied. Meaning, it's going to be hard to determine who she is just from appearance. That has its pros and cons. It means it'll be hard for the enemy to guess who she is. But it also means I won't be able to figure her out without her telling me who she is. Or without me figuring out the significance of her catalyst. Though the condition it's in might make that easier said than done. Regardless it's not that important at the moment. I have to drop this kid off someplace safe.

I grab aforementioned child, one hand gasping a foot and one grasping an arm. "Alley-oop!" I then proceed to literally toss him into the back of the van. An audible groan is his reply. Good to see he's not in a coma, or dead. I start walking to the passenger's side. "Can you close the back for me?" Saber does it without comment. "I'll explain everything on the ride over." I open the door for her.

"Where are we going?"

A smirk pops up on my face. "To register."

She looks uneasy. "At the church?"

Well clearly she's not Constantine. "Where else?"

There's a moment of hesitation before she gives in. "Very well, but you shall explain everything. I'm especially curious as to why you're toting around this child." A harsh glare is sent my way, a wordless threat of violence. Good to see she doesn't view those who hurt children in a positive light. It means we have similar values. Wait, shit. I almost forgot I bashed him across the face like ten minutes ago. Damn, I suppose I fit the 'those who hurt children' description. Well I kind of had a reason. Not a good one, but it was a reason nonetheless.

"I'll tell you everything I know." I say this as if it's the most serious thing in the world. The look on my face probably appears to be a mix of brooding and constipated. Then I do something ridiculous. I hold out my pinky. "Pinky promise."

She looks at the finger. She looks at me. Then she looks at the finger again. "Mmm…" She bites her lower lip. Clearly she's debating whether or not she should participate in the sacred ritual that is the pinky promise. Finally she caves. Her pinky finger entwines with mine in the same way a child's would. "Promise?"

I do something unexpected. Something I probably shouldn't do. It definitely breaches her bubble. I grasp her chin in my other hand and lift her head up so she'll look me in the eyes. It's awkward enough considering our height difference. She's really, really short. Not quite a circus midget, but she's not going to grab anything off of the top shelf anytime soon. "Promise."

She breaks into a wide, toothy grin. "Very well! Your oath is complete." That grin morphs into a warped smile just as fast. "Break it, and I shall break you."

I can only nervously chuckle. "Deal." She climbs into the van with enthusiastic glee. I'm in the driver's seat before she can even close her door. "You should buckle up." I've already done so. Now I'm glancing at my passenger who has her arms crossed in front of her chest.

She pouts at me. Of all the things. She pouts. "I don't want to." The hell did you just say to me? For a hilarious second I imagine wasting a Command Spell to order her to buckle up. But it's just a thought. Instead I rub my temple in exasperation and start the car.

We're on the road for maybe ten seconds before she starts talking. "Explain. Now." It's an order. For some reason it makes me want to do the opposite. I fight the urge to piss her off. I made a promise after all.

"I tackled the kid to the ground and terrified him enough so that he pissed himself." There's a palpable feeling of dread in that van. Almost as if in saying that sentence my fate had been sealed.

"Why?" The look she's giving me could melt steel beams better than jet fuel.

"Uh, carpe diem?" I almost swerve into oncoming traffic when she lunges for me. She shaking my shoulders in frustration.

"This is no time for comedy! You said you'd explain things?!" I have to focus completely on the road in order to avoid crashing into a lamppost. Unfortunately she takes it as me ignoring her. "Does an oath mean so little to you? Oath breakers are the vilest types of men!" All I can do is haphazardly slap at her hands with one hand, while I try to steer with the other.

"Cut it out woman! We're going to die!" This snaps her out of her behavior. Just in time for her to look out the windshield and notice the semi heading straight for us. I pull hard to the right in order to avoid a collision. Shit, I'll stop saving 15% or more if my insurance company hears I was playing chicken with Optimus Prime.

The trucker continues to honk his horn at us even as he soars past. Clearly he's not happy with my shenanigans. Or should I say my Servant's shenanigans. I glare at the short woman next to me. "Can't you take a joke?"

She actually has the nerve to pout at me. "Calling that a joke would be a disservice to the great comedies of Roma. Now answer my question."

I can only give in. "He's the Matou representative. Or at least I think he is." I briefly look over the seat and at the still unconscious child. There's at least three different fluids coating his face. It's super disgusting.

"It was supposed to be a woman. Someone a little younger than me." I can't help but sigh, mainly at the unlucky turn in events. "As you can see that wasn't the case. I should have confirmed the target before running in like an idiot, but I panicked because he'd finished that damned mantra." This night was a clusterfuck. I can only be thankful that I stopped the kid from becoming a Master. I just wish I didn't have to take his place in order to do it. Regardless, it's one less Servant I have to worry about.

Granted this does make it possible for him to summon another. If I had let him claim Saber she would have been the last Servant summoned, as I wouldn't have summoned one of my own. Then that would have turned the entire war upside down. Everyone would have probably tried to track down the mysterious seventh Master who refused to summon a Servant. Just to get the war started. I would have had to be on the defensive. It would have essentially become a high stakes game of hide and seek. Instead it was now going to follow the traditional route. Everyone trying to kill one another. Dammit. This means everything I planned for just went out the window. Instead of making them come to me I'm going to have to track them down individually. Which probably means we're just going to wing it.

"Mmm, does that mean he's my Master?" From the corner of my eye, I notice Saber glancing at the boy with an expression of concern on her face.

"Technically he's your summoner, I guess. I'm your partner." I felt her eyes on me as I focused on my driving.

"Partner?"

I frown a little at the question. "I wouldn't want to call anyone 'Master', why should I ask a living legend to do so?"

I don't know how she reacts to this sentiment. I'm not paying attention to her. Or rather, I'm actively avoiding looking at her. "Very well, I will allow you to be my partner." She lightly punches my shoulder.

I can't help but smirk at her response. "Allow me?"

A soft chuckle escapes her lips. "You are contracted to me. Therefore I suppose that does make us equals."

I can't help but chuckle as well. "Is that so? You certainly had me fooled. You know, with how you were calling me a BDSM term?"

Her laughter abruptly stops, and there's a moment of silence between us. "What is this 'BDSM'?"

My chuckling erupted into a hearty laugh. "You don't know?! But you're Roman!"

Even without looking at her I can tell she's giving me a nasty glare. "What does being Roman have to do with it?"

That just makes me laugh even more. Holy shit, I can feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes. She has to understand, with an outfit like that how can she not? "Cease this laughter at once. Continue your story, Praetor." I let the title she's apparently given me slip, instead I focus on the suggestion she's given me. Well, suggestion is too lenient for what it really is. It's a command. Something I'm not used to hearing, especially from someone who looks like a sorority member. And that's probably why I ignore it. Instead laughing at her even more. She starts to shout at me, taking me laughter as an insult. "It is not that funny! Stop laughing at me!"

I manage to reply in between fits of giggles. "I'm not laughing at you. Just at everything in general." I glance at her from the corner of my eye just in time to see her perplexed expression. It just makes me laugh even more.

It continues for about ten more seconds before I finally quiet down. "Thanks." I practically mumble this to her.

"What for?"

At this I start smirking again. "I needed that." She doesn't understand what I mean. Or maybe she just doesn't know how to respond. Either way it leads us to even more awkward silence. Silence that I eventually interrupt by clearing my throat. "Anyway, I should probably tell you the rest."

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea. I am especially curious as to why you decided to steal a Master's servant." Surprisingly there isn't a harsh edge to her words. I expected her to be furious at the realization that I'd essentially attacked her Master.

Regardless, she does have a good question. "I didn't really decide that. It was kind of split decision type of thing."

I hear her shift in her seat. "You say this after implying you were hunting the Matous." I see what she's getting at. She figures I was tracking them down in order to ambush them. Stealing their servant in the process. That's not too far from what ended up happening. "I wanted to prevent the summoning. If I wanted a Servant I would have summoned my own."" I say this with a little bit more venom than I intended. She takes note of my tone, clearing judging its honesty.

"Why prevent the summoning?" There's genuine curiosity in her tone. I've clearly interested her in my tale, regardless of whether or not she believes it.

"To stop the war of course."

That really gets her attention. She sits up in her seat, moving closer to me as well. "What?" Her tone's not quite upset. Anxious maybe, but not angry.

"This war's a pain in the ass. If it were in any other city I wouldn't give a damn."

She repeats her question, this time with a bit more fervor. "What?!" I cringe a little at her intensity. She doesn't sound like she's going to kill me. Rather it sounds like she's taken aback by my statement. So surprised that she doesn't know how to react properly.

"That shitty cup has the power to grant any wish. Something like that can't come without a catch." That instantly causes her to deflate. It's probably something she's thought about, but pushed aside hoping it wasn't true. I know how she feels. These kinds of things are always too good to be true. "Even if it doesn't, who's to say some lunatic won't wish for the world to end? You think I'll just be a bystander when my life's at stake?"

She falls back into her seat. "If that is the case, would you not have tracked it down regardless of where it took place?" There's a sound logic in her question. Though she's assuming my motivations are purely self-preservation.

"If it happened somewhere else I wouldn't be around to care about it. But here, well, it would be plain irresponsible to let lunatics destroy my city when I can stop them." Ha, 'irresponsible' how can I even say that without a shred of irony? She ponders those words, and for a moment we're once again silent for the drive. Then the conversation continues.

"Why not move somewhere else then?" She's trying so desperately to find some different explanation for what I've done. Picking apart the reason I've given her for some sort of flaw to exploit. I'm not sure if she's naturally skeptical, or if she's just finding it hard to believe that I'd involve myself in this war without wanting a Servant.

It all comes to the one unspoken question that I know she wants to ask. "Don't you have a wish?" For whatever reason, she's avoiding outright saying it. Instead trying to walk me to that question, hoping I'll tell her my wish. The very idea that I might not have a wish probably seems ludicrous to her.

"I'm the type of guy who likes to settle down. Traveling's not really my thing." From our mental link I can feel her doubt. Clearly she doesn't buy that explanation. Hell, I don't even buy that explanation.

"You do not strike me as the type who would settle down." She's blunt with her reply, not deeming my weak response worthy of subtlety.

I grin at her. "Sometimes you're forced to. Especially if there's nowhere else to go." She processes this information, clearly filing it away for later. I've gained her curiosity once again.

Finally, she skips all the bullshit and gets to the root of the issue. "Do not tell me you do not have a wish." She practically whispers this. It's not even a question either. Instead it's a statement, as if she's ordering me to assure her I have a reason for my actions. As if she needs there to be a reason. If she had met me a few years ago I would have had a reason. Now, I just scoff at her.

"What's the point of winning some stupid grail? I have plenty of paper cups at home." I expect her to protest at such a stupid remark. Instead she breaks into a fit of laughter.

"Truly, this is a ridiculous situation I find myself in." She manages to say this in between giggles. I patiently wait for her to get ahold of herself. Eventually she calms down, and explains exactly why she finds this funny. "To think, I've waited for an eternity for someone to summon me. Only to be summoned by a child who wanted Caesar instead." Oh, wow, I almost forgot that comment the kid made. Seems she definitely didn't. "Not only that, but the boy is taken out before I can tell him how lucky he is to have summoned me. And the one to take his place is a man who doesn't even have a wish. It almost seems poetic."

I snort in amusement. "I'd say it'd make a great tragedy."

She starts chuckling again. "Aye, that it would. It would have been well-received in Roma." That thought appears to bring back some memories. If her sudden bout of speechlessness is anything to judge by.

It doesn't matter regardless, I can see the church in the distance. "Well, looks like we're here." I glance at her one last time from the corner of my eye. Her mood's died down considerably, a melancholy expression gracing her features. "Let's hope this goes smoothly." She doesn't respond, so I stop talking. Instead I focus on the road ahead of me.

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 **AN: Well that totally ended on a really big cliffhanger. Sorry 'bout that, but it seemed like a good place to cut off. The chapters are somewhat shorter than GEGE's. Mainly because it's easier and quicker to write them like this. I probably won't even make them less than five thousand words though, because that's too short for this kind of story in my opinion.** **Also, in case you haven't noticed, every chapter's title is going to be the name of a song that came out either in the 60s, 70s, or 80s. Usually the song will have some relation to what goes on in the chapter itself. Kudos to any of you who can correctly guess why I named this chapter what I did. It's not really that difficult to figure out. The correlation between the first chapter and its title is a little bit harder to figure out. As always, thanks for reading!**


	3. What a Fool Believes

**Disclaimer: I'm not entirely happy with how this turned out. Partly because I'm unsure if I nailed Kiara's personality down or not, and partly because I'm not particularly pleased with how I've told more than I've shown. Eh, hopefully, it's not too bad. I'm already mostly done with the next chapter, so that should make up for it.**

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They're already standing at the church doors. These two very different people, brought together by fate, are now preparing to cross the threshold and accept whatever awaits them. Not yet. Just not yet. Saber hesitates.

She can't bring herself to enter the building. Churches bring back too many memories. Unpleasant memories. It doesn't help that the building is utterly terrifying by itself. It's seemingly abandoned and in need of some serious remodeling. Demolishing the dilapidated structure would probably be a necessity if it wasn't repaired soon.

There isn't even a bell in the belfry. What the hell do these people ring when they get married? Doorbells?! Saber scoffs at what the Grail tells her of marriage in this time period. Doves? Rice? How dull! Where is the necessary sacrifice to the gods? It's an integral part of the ceremony and yet, in this era, it's nowhere to be found. And what of the symbolic exchange of fire and water? Completely absent. Such a shame.

Churches were few and far between during her reign. More often than not the Christians would have a congregation in private residences, away from the prying eyes of their oppressors. It was quite shocking to learn from the Grail that Christianity had essentially conquered Rome. Not by the sword either. But by written word and gradual cultural shifts. Well, there was some swordplay involved, but it wasn't to such a shocking degree.

The Grail told her Rome was ravished by barbarians. That it was crushed by men not unlike her Master. Uncouth louts, uncivilized animals that slaughtered all who stood in their way. They had no appreciation for things such as culture. No love for art. No respect for beauty. Saber is very glad the Grail didn't give her all the details. She probably would have broken down in front of Dante. That's something she didn't want to do. Something she couldn't afford to do. Mainly because he didn't seem to be the sympathetic sort.

The conversation she had with him on the ride over created more questions than answers. The one that was forefront in her mind was as to whether or not he was insane. He was fighting in the Grail War … without a wish. Only a lunatic would do that. He told a nice tale about how he felt responsible for the city, how it was essentially his home, and how he'd defend it from destruction. And that's what made Saber uneasy.

This man spoke as if he were selfless. As if he were some sort of hero. Yet clearly, he was not. No hero assaults children. That is the work of a villain. Villains have devilish schemes. Therefore, this man is likely manipulating her for his own gain. He is going to be just like Her. A horrid, conniving snake that ruins everything …!

Saber grabs her head as a migraine overtakes her. It's an agonizing factor of her life. One that she's gotten used to after handling the torture for so long. Her Praetor seems to not notice her moment of weakness. He's focusing completely on the church in front of him, seemingly lost in thought just like her. Saber can't help but sigh as the headache passes. It had been foolish of her to hope that symptom hadn't followed her in the afterlife.

She looks at the man who called himself her 'partner'. He's practically the antithesis to her. Uncivilized. Unrefined. Uncultured. Not only that, but he'll likely betray her. His very personality screams untrustworthy. At least … that's what she thought initially. Now she isn't so sure. He was supposed to have been a villain. But is he? What type of villain spares the enemy's life? Scratch that. What sort of villain spares the enemy and then brings him to the safe zone in a war?

Dante is doing exactly that. The Matou Master who had summoned her is slung right over his shoulder. Still out cold from his 'altercation' with the older man. She suddenly feels the need to write this all down. The man had certainly been right when he said this had the workings of an entertaining drama.

Saber is so engrossed in imagining her new play that she doesn't even notice what her Master is doing. He's raising his right leg, preparing to breach the building. She's completely taken aback when he suddenly kicks the doors open.

"Heyo~ I'm back, you psychotic nun!"

And that's when he lifts the Matou boy from his shoulder and flings him straight into the church. Well, that certainly wasn't heroic at all.

* * *

 **Chapter 3- What a Fool Believes**

Did I ever mention I'm terrible at being subtle? No? Well, I am. Perhaps I should have mentioned that to Saber. She's pretty dumbfounded right not. Suppose it isn't normal to throw children like fastballs. The kid's impact creates a resounding _crack._ Well, that must have certainly hurt.

It's your own fault, kid. If you were smart, you'd be at home playing video games. Instead you'd decided to go to war. What a retard. Hasn't even hit puberty and thinks he can go off and kill people. You got to be at least four foot ten to ride this rollercoaster ride, pal. On second thought, I'm doubting that Saber's even that tall, so maybe not.

Speaking of Saber, "Praetor. Why?"

I find it immensely amusing that she even has to ask. And I make that quite clear, a humungous smirk on my face as I glance at her over my shoulder. "Because I can."

That right there sums up everything. Or at least in my opinion it does. Saber has a different perspective on things. Her brow furrows at my answer and she glares at me. Clearly, she's about to go into rant mode. Fortunately, she's interrupted.

"Ah, Dante. I didn't expect you to show up quite this soon. Miss me already?"

I focus on the inside of the church. That's where the voice came from. A female's voice. Her tone is sultry, the voice of someone that's quite talented at seducing men. The tone of someone who's adept at manipulation. I couldn't help but chuckle at how anyone could consider her a nun.

"Saber, meet Kiara, Kiara, Saber."

Any other circumstances and I would have avoided this place. I despise this woman. Perhaps that's a little harsh. How can I put this lightly? I don't like how she behaves. There I said it. Now that's coming from a guy like me. That should give you an indication of how **frustrating** it is to deal with her.

Everything about her is disgusting to me. Her seductive tone is irritating. Her flirtatious demeanor is annoying. I absolutely hate how she pretends to be an airhead. How she thinks she can seduce people and wrap them around her little finger. That'd be fine and dandy if she actually was like that. Hell, it'd be kind of cool. She'd be like an evil female James Bond! But no, that's not who she is. It's just one of her many ploys. A farce she insists on living. That's why I despise her. She is just too damn fake!

You know what's worse? She knows that's how I feel about her act. She knows I can see right through her. Which is why she turns her phony personality up to eleven whenever I'm around. Just to be a wise ass.

Saber freezes in place upon noticing the woman. She seems like she's about to flee. I don't know what causes this reaction. Kiara is certainly terrifying, but only to a human man. A Servant shouldn't feel fear from a mortal. Isn't that how this is supposed to work?

"Oh? So you have decided to get involved." She giggles at me. As if she's some sort of schoolgirl. It's disgusting.

"Older women shouldn't do something as demeaning as giggling." I smirk at her.

As par for the course she doesn't even react at my jab. That's the other annoying aspect of her personality. She won't so much as flinch upon being insulted. Instead she'll flip it around. And not only that, but she won't flip it around correctly! How easy would it be to point out that she's younger than me? Way too easy. Purposefully easy. I gave her that out intentionally, just to give her a way to make normal banter. What does she do? She makes it as abnormal as possible.

"Oooooh, so what should they do hmm?" She licks her lips. She licks her motherfucking lips. I feel like prey being gazed upon by a predator. It's quite unnerving.

"Praetor, I find it quite troubling that you prefer mature women." Where the hell does this come from? Saber continues. I wish she wouldn't. "Everyone knows the best partners are older men and younger girls!"

Oh. Well I didn't know. Thanks for clearing that up. Kiara breaks out into a merry laugh. Clearly, she notices the annoyed expression on my face. Good to see it brings her some joy.

"Let's just get to the point." I make my way into the church. Slowly moving to where the sound of her laughter is coming from. It isn't a particularly well-lit place. The main source of illumination are the dozens of wax candles she has alit. Now that I think about it, I'm kind of lucky tossing the Matou hadn't knocked over any of these. I could have unintentionally started a fire …. Scratch that. I should have tried to hit over as many of them as possible. It would have been hilarious.

"Praetor?" Oh, that's right there's that stupid rule about bringing Servants inside the church. Something about the church being the neutral ground of the war. Blah, blah, blah, rules.

"Come on in." If Kiara objects she doesn't vocalize it.

Surprisingly Saber does. "I would … prefer to stay outside."

I just shrug. Whether or not she notices it is unimportant. Our mental link more than conveys my opinion on the matter.

 _Fine. Do whatever you want. It doesn't matter to me._

Saber seems displeased, but she doesn't make a fuss over it. I ignore her as I continue moving towards the supposed bodhisattva. I can't help but shudder once I have a clear line of sight on her. She's beautiful. Unearthly beautiful. A Japanese Mona Lisa. But she's trying so hard to be ugly. Like I said, beauty isn't really something I care about. It's trivial, time-limited, and meaningless. But that doesn't mean I can't recognize it.

Kiara is without a doubt beautiful. Just like Saber is. But unlike Saber, there's something so wrong with Kiara's beauty. I've never seen her in anything besides that nun outfit. I couldn't even tell you her hair color, though I'm assuming it's black because she's Japanese. (Though to be honest, I've just encountered a blue haired kid so for all I know she could be a pinkette.)

Saber flaunts her beauty. One glance at her and you'd know that. It's kind of hard to miss. But Kiara, well she hides it. While also showing it off. I doubt that makes much sense but believe me when I say you'd understand if you saw her.

She wears the traditional attire of a Buddhist nun, habit and all, but she stylizes it so she looks like she's in a fetish film. The result is her looking more akin to an abomination. A corruption of both beauty and modesty. A weak attempt at being offensive and disgusting. She dresses like this for shock value. To make people notice her and despise her.

"That cult of yours still going alive and strong?" The woman standing in front of me doesn't seem the type to be a cult leader. She looks considerable different from those typically connected with the phrase. I'm looking at you Jim Jones. You and your shitty Kool-Aid.

No, the woman in front of me doesn't look like a psychopath. Well, if one can even tell what a psycho looks like from a glance. And that is precisely why she unnerves me. Everything about her is a contradiction. She's supposed to be a holy woman but I can tell she'd much prefer indulging in sin. She's supposed to be chaste, yet she pretends to enjoy lust.

These are things that can't really be mixed. You can't be a holy sinner or a virgin whore. Instead of trying to embrace a middle ground she attempts to recreate the two opposite ends of extreme at the same time. It's like the woman's experiencing some mid-life identity crisis, yet she's doesn't look a day over twenty-one. In short, she's probably a little fucked in the head.

But who am I to judge? Here I am psychoanalyzing her flaws when I have way too many of my own. And that's probably the reason I tolerate her, more so than one else. We both have a few screws loose. But at least I don't dress up as a sexy nun. At least not all three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. Halloween is a different story.

"Oh? I didn't think you'd care about that? Changed your mind about joining?"

I don't even react to her question, instead simply giving her my best bored look. "Joe Pesci is our true lord and savior." Some would say this is a ridiculous assertion. Completely random. Nonsensical. Borderline fanatical. To them I simply say "Were you in GoodFellas? No. So shut up."

She smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's a very unpleasant smile. But it's not a condescending one. Which is the type of smile I normally expect to see on someone's face after saying such a line. Kiara's not like that though. She indulges my stupidity. Which is one of the reasons I sometimes don't mind her. See, I'm not completely shitty to this woman. Sometimes I can kind of stand to talk to her. When she's not trying so hard to be sexual empowered she's actually somewhat entertaining.

"Last time I saw you it was Robert De Niro."

I grimace at the memory. "Well, I finally got around to watching 'Little Fockers'."

Her unpleasant smile turns sympathetic, just for a second. Then it warps into a demented grin. "You'll come around eventually." Man, she's more persistent than those damn Jehovah's witnesses. And that's saying something, I opened the door nude once and they still keep coming back. I don't know if that should make me worried or not.

"Like I said, let's just cut to the chase."

Her eyebrows rise and her lips pucker. I could swear her eyes are twinkling. "So forceful."

I just scowl at her. "Rape's a sin, right? Well then, why do I feel you're raping me with your eyes every time I show up?" Cue the childish giggle. Eye rape intensifies. I do my best to fix the situation.

My best involves humoring her. Awkwardly staring into her eyes without blinking. We enter into this competition of sorts. A 'battle of the will'. Surrounded by an unconscious child and candles. Sounds like some weird ritual to summon Cthulhu.

I make the first move. My eyebrows start moving up and down. In normal societal context this might be akin to nudging her with my elbow. A signal that I know what she's up to and would allow her to continue with her actions. This is not normal context.

"A mating ritual already? I fear my heart's not ready for this quite yet." The 'yet' part terrifies me. I can't back down though. By the power vested in me I will defeat this woman in one-on-one combat.

Luckily, I've sent Saber a single line of thought to keep her away. _She started praising Jesus. Want to join?_ Of course, my question was met with a resounding negative answer. That all but confirms she's anti-Christian. Fucking bigot. Maybe she's like some long lost sister of Diocletian? The funniest part is that Kiara's a Buddhist. I won't clarify that though. It'll keep Saber away.

This nutty nun does something that makes this all even worse. Something that's definitely not supposed to happen in a story rated for teens. It destroys all train of thought. It makes me question my sanity. She starts blowing kisses. Kisses! And not the Hershey's chocolate kind. Those are good Kisses. These are bad. Oh so bad.

Remember when I said I wasn't going to back down? Change of plans. I tried. I tried so hard. And got so far. (Not really, I didn't do much to be honest.) But this is just too weird. This woman just makes me feel too uncomfortable when she acts like this. My skin crawls just looking at her. Like I said, usually she isn't this bad. On some days we actually have what could be considered normal conversation, despite our individual eccentricities.

But today something made her accentuate her promiscuous behavior. Perhaps it's Saber's appearance. Or maybe it's the fact that she's upset with how I tossed the Matou at her. Or both. Whatever the case Kiara is somewhat irritated at me. She's just not very forward, so instead of outright criticizing me like Saber would she simply tries hard to passive aggressively make me feel awkward. Which is oh so frustrating. Usually I would brush this aside, I'd play her game and humor her. But today she's being particularly creepy, and I really don't want to have to file a police report because of her actions. Restraining orders are a pain in the ass to get.

So, I can't help it. I've lost. Just like that. Call me a coward if you will. No one can compete with this woman when she's at her maximum strength. Her combined fetish power is too much. Not even Marilyn Monroe could compete with her. Pamela Anderson would drown in a sea of her own tears at the sight of such a woman. Don't even get me started on the Kardashians. They'd self-implode upon witnessing Kiara. On a good day when she's happy I could joke around with her. But on a bad day …. Well I'm not ready for that type of commitment.

This is Kiara Sessyoin. Probably one of the weirdest people in the world. Somehow a cult leader. Somehow the nun at this former Catholic church. Somehow my 'friend'. And somehow the mediator of this Holy Grail War. Yes, those maniacs in Rome decided she'd be the most qualified for this sort of thing. Somehow, they'd recognized her as a modern-day prophet. Don't even begin to ask me how a follower of a sect of Buddhism (an insane sect, mind you) was recognized as a Christian prophet, the politics are way too complicated.

Well, maybe not. I'd vaguely gotten mention that a certain Cardinal, who was next in line to be the Pope, had a crush on her. Yes, this is how low the papacy has fallen. Whatever happened to the time when they had balls? We need another Crusade. And it should probably take place in Japan if people like Kiara are commonplace here.

Maybe the church was just praying she'd get killed in the crossfire? I sympathized with them if that were the case. But if that thing about a Cardinal having the hots was true instead … well I might have to reenact the Visigoth's sacking of Rome.

"You know, I'm a bit surprised you'd register for the war." Aforementioned nun interrupts my thoughts. It's like the 'duel' of ours never even happened. Which is kind of true. I only put up a fight for like ten seconds and then immediately surrendered. Wow, I must be French. Ba dum tss.

Kiara starts smiling again. This time it's a knowing smile, far less creepy than her various other corrupted grins, but still not something I'd like to see. Why can't she just show me a genuine smile? Instead I get these smarmy grins that only should be on the faces of people with evil laughs. I wonder, does she have an evil laugh? I wouldn't be surprised if she did.

"You never were the type to be forward with your intentions." Same to you, woman. The last time I took you through a drive thru you took ten minutes deciding what to get. And you ended up only getting a water. That was so very infuriating.

I can't help but frown at her. "Enough of the innuendos. I only came her because of the kid." I jab a finger in his direction.

"Oh? I'm somewhat sad to hear that." My left foot taps the ground impatiently. She sighs when she realizes I'm being serious. "Who's the lucky mother?"

I just dryly chuckle at this. "Ha ha. He's a Master."

Her eyes widen in shock. "Really now? And you brought him to me?"

I rub my forehead in frustration. "You're the mediator, aren't you?"

With this said all traces of her playful demeanor are gone. That flirtatious harlot she tries to be is replaced by the actual Kiara Sessyoin. The Kiara that had to handle being regarded as a prophet since she was a little girl. She's in business mode.

"That isn't what I meant." There's an edge to her tone, she's expecting me to be serious now that she is. Can't say I'm surprised. She never really was fair.

"He's a Matou." It's a single, simple declaration. And yet it brings with it so much trouble.

This time her face remains passive. "I am not surprised. I was wondering how long it'd take the worm to get involved."

My nose crinkles in disgust at the idea. "He's not involved." I'm convinced of this. If he was this boy wouldn't have been the one sent to participate. "The kid's clean too. Go ahead and check if you want."

She simply takes my word for it, briefly glancing at the boy's unconscious form before looking back at me. "Well, then, that brings me back to my original question. Why did you bring him to me instead of killing him?"

Saber hears this. I know she does. I can feel her straining across the mental link in an attempt at listening in on us. I don't even bother fighting her back, instead allowing her to see the world through my eyes. Literally. Magic's cool like that.

"There are a few things I refuse to do. You know that Kiara." Everyone has to have some line they refuse to cross. Some moral standing to keep them sane. As much as I hate rules, they're necessary to keep order. And not everyone's ready for total chaos quite yet. Not even me.

She smiles at me, and for once it's a sincere smile. The type of smile I'd like to see on her more often. It makes her feel more like a human being, and less like someone regarded as a messenger of God.

"Yes, I do." A distant look graces her gaze. She's reminiscing about the past. How sweet. And how utterly pointless. I can't help but clear my throat. This has already wasted too much of my time, I need to get going.

It snaps her out of her daze. "I suppose you want me to be his caretaker." It isn't a question. She's known that's what I wanted since the second I'd tossed him at her.

"Yup." My hands go into my pockets. I'm trying my best to appear nonchalant. Secretly I'm hoping she won't refuse.

She frowns at me. "He still has his Command Spells." Her left eyebrow raises in questioning.

"I can't exactly chop his arm off?" Why did that sound more like a question? I'm supposed to say that as if it were an obvious answer, instead it comes out as a weak excuse. The kind of excuse a child would make to their mother.

"Would you like me to do it for you?" Ah, now there's the Kiara I know. I'm not going to say the second part of that saying. The 'l word' is not something that can ever be used in the same sentence as this woman's name.

"Wouldn't that invalidate your neutrality?" That just sounds stupid. Even to me.

She chuckles. "Neutrality? When have I ever been neutral?" She … has a point. "And can you recall a time in which the Church was truly neutral?" Again, a very good point.

There's a common misconception about the mediator's role in this war. Some are foolish enough to believe they're supposed to be impartial judges in the conflict. They aren't. They're meant to decide who would be a better choice for the Church. Often this simply comes down to who's going to cause the least destruction, and thus the least amount of property damage that the Church is likely going to have to cover up. The costs for said cover up come completely out of their pocket. Yeah, it makes a lot of sense that they don't remain completely impartial.

Then again what Kiara's doing is beyond that. She's actively helping a Master in the war. Which leads me to one question. Am I the only one she's helping? It makes sense for her to help others in order to instill the guise of neutrality. If that's the case I can't help but be curious as to who she's actually backing in this war. I wish I could say I don't doubt her intentions.

She sighs, and it interrupts me from my thoughts. "I don't like how you're going about this Dante." She fixates an intense glare my way. The anger in her normally serene gaze gets my attention. Kiara doesn't get angry. She gets irritated. Frustrated even. But never angry. And like I said, even when she's upset she always avoids outright showing it. Instead she overcompensates by emphasizing her personality. "The last time you were here you tossed a disembodied head at me."

You know, I'm kind of regretting allowing Saber to remain mentally linked with me. I mean, there are just some things you don't tell a girl the first day you meet her. The fact that you dismembered some retard less than a month ago is one of those things.

"Really that was quite impolite of you. Have you no respect for the dead?" I have a feeling she knows Saber's watching. Call it intuition. And common sense. "I distinctly remember you kicking it into the goblet used for Mass, and then ransacking this place in search of wine." The playful smirk on her face all but confirms my suspicions.

Well, good thing I know how to twist that. "Some would call what I did art."

She can't help but chuckle at that. "Would 'some' be Hannibal Lector and Ted Bundy?" I mean, yeah, it probably would, but there's probably some other sick fucks out there that would share that opinion. "I digress, it's quite shocking to see that you've changed so much in three weeks."

"Would you have preferred if I'd skewered the kid on a fire iron?" She actually considers this for a moment. Oh, and I'm the insane one.

"No, not really. Maybe a pool que, but not a fire iron." She's got a devilish grin on her face as she says this. It makes me feel somewhat uncomfortable.

 _These are the types you hang around?_ Ah Saber. Finally commenting on this conversation, are you? Shouldn't you have thought that like five minutes ago when she was giving me the rape face? Or is the rape face common practice in your end of history? Wait, she's Roman. Carry on.

There's a moment of silence between Kiara and me. It's strangely calming despite the eerie atmosphere surrounding us. Though it is a little awkward. Which is par for the course with all things Kiara related.

Neither of us really knows how to continue with the conversation. Normally she would continue teasing/antagonizing me for a good hour or so, but it seems like she's already ran out of ways to stall. She closes her eyes.

Finally, she's going to get to the point. Then she sighs, a tired, aged sigh. "Well, I **suppose** I can look after the boy for you." I wish she'd just said that right off the bat.

"Thanks." Oh shit. She opens her eyes and I feel like I've made a terrible mistake. There's a satisfied smirk plastered on her face too. It makes me think like I've seen that sort of look before. Oh, yeah, every time I look in the mirror.

"You are going to owe me." Yes, I'm going to owe you for doing your job. Because that's how things work. Sound logic there. "And I can't promise he won't be harmed." There's a hidden edge to her cheery tone.

"I can." Those two simple words might as well be a Geis. My conviction is resolute. No one will hurt the kid. Well except for me. I might hurt him if he behaves like a little shit. It won't be permanent damage though. It's unlikely that I can trust Kiara to do the same.

"Oh? Consider my interest piqued. How are you of all people going to protect him?" She moves closer to me and looks up, directly into my eyes. Her arms slink around my waist. Bad touch, bad touch.

I don't even bother fighting her off. She won't do anything worse than this. The only good thing about Kiara is that she knows when to stop. That's something I should seriously try to learn.

I look down into the woman's eyes. There's a lot of emotion there, her eyes are the only part about her that's honest. It's not the same for me. "I'll kill anyone that gets in my way."

Even I'm surprised by how it comes out. I'd expected to sound tough and abrasive. It should have sounded like the voice of a hero, convicted in his ideals and sure of his righteous cause. Instead it came out in a tired mumble. The voice of someone that was at the end of their journey and doubting why they'd even bothered in the first place. I sound far too old.

"I know you will." And she lays her head on my chest. I've had enough of this. No more games, I don't have the time. I'm a bit too forceful with her, pushing her off of me in the same way you'd pull off a bandage. Suddenly. Roughly.

She gasps a little, and again it sounds more like a moan than an actual gasp. I turn around and start walking to the door. Saber's waiting for me.

"You're not going to register?" The mirth is already back in Kiara's voice.

I don't even stop, instead I answer without facing her. "Didn't I already?"

She calls back to me. "Not technically."

I'm at the door, one foot outside, when I turn back to her. "I, Dante Di Prinzi, declare myself to be the Master of Saber in this Grail War." My hands go to my hips. "The damn cup is as good as mine!" I point into the church, back at Kiara. "You better not kill that kid. Or I'll massacre you."

It's not really a threat. More like a tease of things that could come. She chuckles quietly, one hand covering her mouth. "I would like to see you try." Then she starts waving. It was surreal to witness. Someone like Kiara bidding me goodbye in such a fashion. She reminds me more of a soldier's wife, forced to watch their husband walk off to war. Thankfully that was not our relationship. "Farewell Dante. I hope that we can meet again."

A large smile forms on her face. One that's neither happy nor sad. Accepting. That's the word I'll describe it with. "Whether it be in this life or the next is up to those far greater than either of us." The door closes seemingly of its own volition. Because that's totally not cliché and all.

And with that I'm done with this nun and her church. I turn back to Saber, who's now looking at me with a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. What? I didn't say anything too ridiculous. In fact, I think I was kind of tame in comparison to how she behaves.

We're at the car before she speaks. "You decapitated a man?" Oh. That's why she's uneasy. Makes sense.

"Technically I just blew up everything but his head." There's a pregnant pause between us. I just start climbing behind the wheel.

"What." I didn't know a single word could convey so much meaning. That's kind of impressive Saber.

I glance at her while closing my car door. "You going to get in or should I just drive off without you?" She doesn't dignify that with a response, sitting in her seat as I buckle myself in. Of course, she doesn't buckle herself. I swear, I'm definitely not paying the inevitable ticket.

"Explain." She crosses her arms over her chest. Quite a magnificent chest might I add. Not quite as magnificent as Kiara's, but not bad nonetheless. I kind of feel sorry for them. They must have some serious back pain.

"Monji Gatou." Just a name. No emotion tied to it.

Saber's eyebrow raises. "Who?"

I start the van. "Disembodied head guy." Her mouth opens into an 'o'. "Former Master. Wanted to summon the White Princess, Arcueid Brunestud." The way I say this betrays the severity of my words. To anyone listening in on this conversation it would seem that I'm simply commenting on something trivial like the weather, instead of revealing something so terrifying.

Saber's puzzled for a moment, from the visual cues she's giving me (those being the faraway look in her eyes) I can tell she's tapping into the Grail's information banks for an explanation. I can also tell when she's actually received the information. It's more than a little amusing to see a powerful hero gape at me like a dead fish.

"I take it you understand my point?"

She coughs into her fist in order to stall. I can tell she's unsettled. Really I can't blame her. "How?"

I'm already starting to back the van out of its parking spot when she starts talking again. "How what? How'd I know this? How'd I kill him?"

She glares at me. "How would he go about summoning such a … creature?"

I shrug and continued to reverse. "Beats me. I mean, I can't exactly ask him." Well I could. But that would involve scuba gear. And then I'd be at the bottom of the sea talking to a disembodied head. Yeah. Not going to do that. It'd make for terrible conversation.

"How did you know?" She says this like she's asking how I figured out she was going to throw me a surprise birthday party.

Despite the somewhat somber nature of our conversation I can't help but start laughing. The baffled expression on her face only caused me to intensify my chuckling. "You know, that's a funny story."

About five different emotions grace her features before she settles for an impassive mask. "Do tell."

And that's when I back into a fire hydrant. "Sonofabitch." I shift into drive and pull away. "Well, how should I put this … he was kind of hanging around Kiara's church screaming bullshit at her for about a week or so."

She frowns. "From the way you describe it I take it was less than flattering?"

"Depends on your idea of flattering. He was spouting some nonsense about how she was a phony prophet." I start counting down the points the guy made using my fingers, just so I can properly remember the absurd nature of his comments. "How her religion was a farce. How he was in fact the true prophet of God. And how he was going to summon God to slaughter her." I can't help but say this all in an extremely mocking tone. The entire subject was just too ridiculous to take seriously. Coming from me that's a huge testament to how batshit crazy this guy was.

For some reason Saber beams at me. "So you fought him to defend your woman. How noble. I might have been wrong about you, Praetor." There's so many things I have to say to this. She's got so many wrong ideas it's not even funny. And did she sort of insult me?

"My what? No, I hunted him down because he was trying to summon Joe Pesci. That's heresy I cannot allow."

Somehow, I feel this was the incorrect response. The blank expression on her face confirms that feeling. "Excuse me?"

"What did you sneeze or something?" Ok, she's definitely disappointed in me.

"Who is this 'Joe Pesci'? I recall you mentioning his name to the nun." The van skids to a stop as I slam on my brakes. I whirl around to make full eye contact with this woman.

"Who is Joe Pesci?!" I echo her question in a frantic voice. "Why he's the greatest actor in history! A man who gets things done! The ultimate symbol of tenacity and unforgiving brutality!"

She creases her brow. "What are you babbling about? 'Greatest actor in history'? Please, how can you be so uncultured as to not even recognize the one who holds that title stands before you?"

I look her over. She claimed she was Roman. Maybe it was a reference to Pesci's Italian-American heritage? No, there is no way someone who was clearly a man could be summoned as a woman. At least, I don't think that's possible. Without surgery. And besides it's only been like a year since he died. Despite his greatness, there is no possible way for him to have become a Servant so quickly. And that's not even considering that he would have no need for such a thing.

Perhaps he'd enter the Throne of Heroes as its rightful ruler, but he didn't need to actively participate in the wars. What sort of wish could such a man have? Wait. I know. I couldn't help but look Saber over once again. For some reason she makes it quite easy. By this I mean she actively starts posing for me. That seems like quite an un-Pesci thing to do.

"Height."

"Beg your pardon?" She ceases her ridiculous posing and fixes me with a curious look.

"The only thing he'd need a wish for. Height. That was his only flaw. He was short." Granted it was also his greatest strength. It allowed him to add in a comedic flair to his more serious roles, and his short stature was a juxtaposition to his brutal ferocity. I'm rambling, aren't I? Dammit. "You are around his height. Maybe a few inches shorter."

Oddly, Saber's forehead starts twitching. She should probably see a doctor about that … "Excuse me?!" And this is how I start an endless rant about how she isn't short, that the world is simply unable to handle any more of her marvelousness, and how I'm an incompetent fool that has no appreciation for the beauty of the human body. Specifically, her human body.

During the nagging I start to drive again. It keeps me from arguing with her. I also don't want to risk the chance of a random passerby becoming a witness to the assault I'm forced to accept. That would be beyond embarrassing. Luckily, it's going on four o'clock in the morning. Hardly anyone is around at this time.

"Now, I would appreciate if you ceased your incessant prattle and continue explaining how you of all people managed to kill someone that knew how to summon a True Ancestor." Technically he just wanted to summon one. There was no guarantee he would have succeeded. I mean, now there was absolutely no guarantee. But even before he probably had a very slim chance.

"Oh, that's simple. Grenade launcher."

The expression on her face clearly signifies a lack of understanding. "Grenade launcher?"

Absentmindedly, I start scratching the side of my nose. "Specifically, a China Lake. Want to see pictures?"

"You took pictures?" My left-hand slips into my pants pocket and pulls out my wallet. I open it up for her to see. Right where a normal person would keep pictures of their family is a picture of the aforementioned grenade launcher. It goes without saying that I've kept it in pristine condition.

I gesture at the weapon with my thumb. "Saber meet Consuela."

She looks at the image and doesn't seem to be that impressed. "I was expecting something far worse."

I can't help but raise an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Pictures of you blowing the man up." What a sick freak. Why would she assume I'd take pictures of such a thing?

"Oh, those are back home." The displeased look on her face makes me laugh a little inside. "I'm joking, what, do you think I'm Jeffrey Dahmer?" Clearly, she doesn't know who that is, so she doesn't really get the reference.

She does understand the point I'm trying to make. "It is good to see that you are not a complete savage." An unflattering snort is the only response she gets from me. We ride in silence. I focus on the road, my headlights paving a path through the ominous darkness of the night.

"That woman … what is your relationship with her?" Ah, I figured I'd have to correct this inaccurate assumption sooner rather than later. Looks like I was right.

"Not the kind you're assuming it is." I make certain that when I say this I'm looking in her eyes. Even if it might risk me getting in a car accident. Her eyes meet my gaze and she searches for an ounce of dishonesty. There isn't any. "Kiara's like that with everyone. If you had bothered to get near her she would have done the same to you."

She doubts me. I can tell by the slight rise of her eyebrows. The little twitch at the corners of her lips. "Mmm, it seems odd for a holy woman to be so …."

"Slutty?" I helpfully add.

"Not the word I would have used, but yes."

A soft chuckle bubbles out from my throat. "She a walking contradiction. She's also a bit broken."

Saber folds her hands behind her head and leans back in her seat. Good to see she finally relaxed. "How so?"

I stop at a traffic light. "Well, she was essentially worshipped since childhood and grew up without ever having any normal human interactions."

Saber stiffens slightly. "The light is green."

"Ah." I accelerate forward. "I met her by chance, and I just sort of treated her like I treated everyone else." Like complete utter shit. "And she treated me similar. That's about it." Not really anything too substantial.

The woman was considered a prophet and treated as a god. Everyone around her saw her as their superior. And as the saying goes, 'it's lonely at the top'. That's a lot for someone to go through, especially a child. I bumped into her and just so happened to consider her my equal.

At least up until she started acting like she does now. Once upon a time she was actually pretty meek, her only comments being the occasional witty one-liner that put me in my place. Not that surprising considering she was supposed to be the voice of God. God doesn't joke around. He also doesn't have normal conversations.

With time Kiara had grown up and decided she didn't want to be just the voice of God. At least not 24/7. Now she still has those witty remarks, but it comes along with the emotional baggage that is her attempt at being mature. Unfortunately, in her mind, maturity is irrevocably linked to sex.

Anyway, somehow I think I affected her life drastically. Even though that sounds like a rather arrogant claim to make. Maybe it's because I gave her something she had never experienced before? Normalcy. It's pretty fucking funny that I of all people ended up being the normal part of someone's life.

"Yes, it is. You seem to be quite the unusual individual."

Did I say all that aloud? "Sorry, I must be tired if I'm starting to talk to myself." Saber smiles at me. I can tell even though I'm not looking at her. She just exudes that level of warmth with her very presence. Wonder if she has Charisma? No. Just glancing at her tells me her stats and skills. Charisma isn't one of them. Then it's just her personality. How terrifying. A woman like this once walked the Earth. Must have been pretty awful back then.

"You do that quite often." Huh, never realized. Wait … does that mean I talk aloud when I think to myself? How often have I done that?! She waves off my worries, likely incorrectly assuming they're brought about by something else. "Think nothing of it, Praetor. Today has been an exhausting day."

So, she assumes I'm worried about slighting her? … She is most definitely an idiot. Well, I can't exactly worry about what I might have let slip. It's not like it really matters. And 'exhausting'? I guess that's one way of putting it. My eyelids do feel kind of heavy. Part of me feels like a little nap would be nice. Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a second. They do burn, I guess that's from eye strain or something.

"Praetor." I'm jolted awake by Saber's voice.

"I wasn't sleeping." The car hasn't crashed, I'm still driving straight, looks like everything fine.

"There is a boundary –"

"Field." I interrupt her. The sudden change in the air, I can feel it. It's not obvious, but just slightly noticeable. This isn't a field to harm us. No. It's to keep people away.

"We need to –" Saber stops talking. Both of us sense it. That presence. That overwhelming pressure. It can't be anything besides a Servant. And it's getting closer.

"Shit." I sum up the situation in a single word. That's the only word I manage to get out. Because right then the van gets hit. Something gigantic slams right into Saber's side of the vehicle. The noise from the impact is deafening. The grating shrill squeal of metal being torn apart. The shatter of glass. The popping of my tires. All of it hits me like a freight train. Along with the actual collision of course.

There's an overwhelming feeling of dread prevalent in the air. Saber's screaming my name. Clearly, she's worried about my wellbeing. How sweet. And those are the only things I can understand in this surprising turn of events. My world's already starting to spin. Or is that the van itself? No, it's both. Which means we're going to end up upside down. Great. This is going to hurt, isn't it?

* * *

 **AN: First of all, I'd like to thank Noah Thomson and King Keith for the major help they've been with this chapter (as well as the previous two). Keith's been my expert with all things Type Moon related (as there's a lot of stuff I'm unfamiliar with, mainly in everything Tsukihime related) and he's also helped me out a lot this chapter with my consistent tendency of switching between past and present tense. And Noah's been a massive help on keeping things on track. Believe me, without her this chapter would have been ten times more awful then it already is. Check out both their works. Noah's a French writer, so that might be a deal breaker, but Keith's work is all in English so be sure to check it out.**

 **Also, I'm interested in finding a third beta, particularly one that focuses more on grammar, spelling, and sentence structure. I've always had a problem with run on sentences (as well as my tenses, as previously mentioned), and it'd be great to have someone work with just stuff like that. I might be getting too greedy, asking for even more help! If any of you are interested shoot me a PM. Otherwise I'd be eternally grateful for any constructive criticism that can be thrown my way (either through PM or reviews). I'd also be more than happy to answer any questions, comments, or concerns.**

 **One last thing. I'm just going to pat myself on the back for being the first author to actually have a story with Kiara in it. Or at least the first to use the Kiara tag. Not that surprising considering she's not exactly a well-known character, but still it inflates my ego a little learning I've been the first with something. Granted it's a largely unimportant something, but it's still kind of cool. Maybe more people will start including her as a character? She's not that fleshed out in canon, so it'd be neat to see her mentioned more.**

 **PS- (I swear this is the actual last thing.) Next chapter's going to be the first fight scene! No, I don't count Dante's 'altercation' with Shinji a fight. It's going to involve that beautiful pseudo-Berserker from GEGE! And guess what? He's going to wreck Dante's car in this story as well. Poor Dante.**


	4. Stayin' Alive

**Disclaimer: No giant rock monsters were hurt in the making of this chapter. Well, maybe one was. Just a little.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4- Stayin' Alive**

What the hell just happened? I'm upside down, arms dangling downwards, only held in my seat by my flimsy seatbelt. The van has been completely flipped over, the floor becoming the ceiling and the roof becoming the ground beneath me. It's a surreal setting to wake up in.

The airbags went off. One's obnoxiously smacking me in the face. The entire passenger side of the vehicle is caved in. It looks like we were hit by a semi. Maybe Optimus Prime had returned to teach us a lesson? I chuckle at the thought.

Luckily I'm not that hurt. A few scratches, some bruises, and a headache. Those are my only ailments. Most of the shrapnel had missed, though some glass from the windshield had managed to scrape my face. The headache is somewhat worrying, as it could mean I have a concussion. But I doubt that's the case. It's more likely that it's a result of blood rushing to my cranium. Courtesy of the awkward position I'm in. I'll get out of here in a jiffy.

A quick rustling through my pockets produces a small little switchblade. Good enough for me. Ten seconds later and I've sliced the airbag to ribbons. Nice, now I won't have to deal with that thing smacking me in the face. Next I have to work on the seatbelt.

The conclusion of my actions involved me falling straight down and bumping my head against the roof of the van. Hard. "Goddammit." I release a few more choice expletives before shifting into a somewhat comfortable position.

That's when I notice something kind of important. "Where's Saber?" I'd noticed the damage her side of the vehicle had taken, but I hadn't noticed that she was missing. Way to be observant, Dante. Keep up the good work.

"Well, that's why you should have worn your seatbelt." Though, it could also be possible that she simply managed to crawl out of the wreckage before me. I'm kind of hoping she got thrown out instead. Maybe she'd learn something from this experience.

I make my way to my door, as Saber's is crushed into the van itself. Trying the handle gets me nowhere. The door opens slightly, but when I try to push it open it doesn't so much as budge. I look out the window and realize why this is the case. The van is sandwiched against a building. A concrete building might I add. I doubt I'll be able to open it. Even if I did manage to, there's no way I'd be able of getting out.

I look over my shoulder back at Saber's side. No going through there either. I can't even crawl through the window, it's been crushed in a downwards fashion. As if someone stepped on it after hitting us. Is this what the inside of a crushed soda can looks like?

I could probably make my way out through the windshield, that's likely how Saber got out. But, that would risk cutting my hands on the glass, and I really would prefer being able to use my hands in the near future. There's a lot of important things one can do with their hands. Of course I'm talking about shooting guns. I didn't mean that. Get your mind out of the gutter Dante.

Great now I'm rambling to myself.

Instead of making my way through the front of the van I start maneuvering my way to the back. Along the journey I find the Pico. "Hey little guy. Can't believe you survived." It's a little worse for the wear, but still useable. Just a few scratches on the barrel, nothing too serious.

"Must have fallen out in the crash." A pretty big detriment to carrying without a holster. Almost as bad as the increased likelihood of shooting yourself in the balls. I pocket the gun and continue on my merry way.

Finally I make it to the very back, where the double doors are. I don't even bother trying the sliding side doors. The passenger side's is wrecked just like the front cab's, and the driver's side is likely blocked by the same building. Which left just these back doors. I kneel down to inspect them. The one on my left is damaged like the rest of that side of the van, but the one on the right look to be workable. It comes open with a slight push.

And that's when all hell breaks loose.

I don't know why I hadn't heard it before I opened those doors. Maybe it's because I wasn't focusing. I was nauseous, dizzy, and my head hurt like hell. My ears were also slightly ringing. That might have been why I hadn't noticed it all. That changed when I opened that door.

I had known this war would be hell. I knew it would be a challenge. That I was going to be outmatched, outclassed, and likely outplayed at every corner. What I didn't know was the degree to which it would be. Masters were one thing. They died like everything else. They would be easy to take care of. Servants were always going to be the problem. I just didn't know how big of a problem they really were. Now, I know.

Saber's fighting this … this thing! Whatever it is it's something clearly abnormal. It's bipedal, and humanoid, but clearly something supernatural. Its skin is a reddish purple color, maybe magenta. Almost the same color as Barney's fur. Of course I'm referring to the dinosaur furry freak of my youth. And no, he isn't purple. I don't give a shit about how his name is 'Barney the Purple Dinosaur'. He was clearly fuchsia.

The magenta/fuchsia creature towers over Saber, twice as tall as her actually. It's at least ten feet tall. On its back there are some sort of wings, but from a practical view it's easy to tell that with their sharp, crystalline shape and this creature's size that they'd be completely useless for flight. The entire thing's body is built as if it's stone. From the size of its muscular structure, and the fact that it just smashed into a moving vehicle and practically demolished it, I can tell it's extremely strong.

Similar to the wings, other crystal like structures protrude from its appendages, as well as its head. The ones sticking out of its head are alien to me. I can't tell if it's supposed to be a mane, antlers, or some sort of horns. Hell, it could be some retro type of hairstyle for all I know about this thing.

In contrast to its skin tone, lighter purplish lines run patters all over its body. They're almost like letters in a neon sign. Shining, pulsating beacons that stand out in the darkness. You know what else stands out? The thing's six-pack. Seriously, this weird monster has more refined abs than I do. I should feel ashamed. Instead I feel curious.

How does this thing go to the gym without scaring everyone away? And maybe I should ask it to tell me its workout routine, because clearly it knows more than a little bit about staying in shape. Can't get fat when you're day to day hobby is charging into peoples' cars.

The worst part is the thing's face. The mouth of this beast is the creepiest thing. It's like a permanent smile. Almost like a Glasgow smile in how it's shaped. The type of smile you'd see on a doll or a puppet. Reminds me of a goddamn freaking clown. The thing's eyes aren't really any better. One eye shines brighter than the other. Both are like small flames. Lines of the same level of brightness run from its eyes. Almost like tear stains.

Well at least I'm dealing with an emotional monster. That makes this situation so much more wonderful. Maybe I can read him some poetry and we'll debate human emotions and-

My thoughts are cut short when the creature starts screaming. Oh Pesci, the scream. I wish I had worn my yellow pants today. It's a terrifying thing to hear. Like something out of your wildest nightmares. Distorted. That's the word to describe it.

And who's the one that has to fight it? Saber. She's hacking at it with that ridiculous sword of hers. Chopping at its limbs, trying to dismember it. Is it working? Nope. Her sword just scratches it, occasionally chipping its hide. Makes me think it actually might be made out of concrete.

I'm glad I'm not in Saber's position. The monster's breath probably stinks, and she's right up in its face. Twirling like a dancer, pirouetting like some ballerina, slashing at it as she spins. Both of these creatures are terrifying. Saber for her speed. And also for her strength, for she must be quite strong to wield a sword like that without tiring.

And this beast for its sheer presence. Everything about it screams death.

It's a hunter.

I can tell that just by looking at it. An apex predator.

Is this a Servant? I don't know. If it is, then what the hell kind of hero is it supposed to be? Is it the Berserker of this war? Even a Berserker should have some semblance of humanity. This thing just feels like a mindless animal.

Another roar, this time I notice Saber winces from the creature's volume. She doesn't as much as flinch when it brings its fists down on her blade. She grins.

And then she taunts it. She fucking taunts it!

"Truly you must be the weakest beast I've faced! You hold not a candle to the great lion! There is no pride in your bearing, merely mindless violence!" Bravo Saber. You've actually taken a page out of my book. Mocking the enemy until they get so pissed they screw up. Jeez, I don't know how I managed to rub off on you that quickly. I must be the one with Charisma!

This glorious swordswoman continues holding the monster back, even as it pushes her into the ground. I don't know why, but I have the vague suspicion that any other Servant would have been slaughtered in an instant. Such is the strength of this horrific thing. Saber fights on, even though she's physically disadvantaged. Consider me impressed.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean I can simply sit on the sidelines cheering for her victory. If I do that we'll likely all die. I have to do something. I can't just sit her gaping like a moron. I don't know where it's Master is so I can't go that route. That leaves me with only one other option. Doing something I'm very good at doing.

Annoying the ever living shit out of someone. Or in this case something.

The first gunshot rings out through the night. The result is rather anticlimactic. Guns were and still are deciding factors in war.

Merciless.

Unrelenting.

Dangerous.

Just the way I like them.

Guns are the very tools that shaped the very history of this world. Just imagine what the first battle of Lexington and Concord would have been without guns. Instead of the 'shot heard round the world' what would it have been called? A sword slash would have been the 'swish heard round the world'. An arrow let loose would have been the 'twang heard round the world'. Lame. Neither of those had the same poetic sense of a gunshot.

Firearms are amazing. That is a fact. They're loud and powerful. Bombastic pieces of equipment that demanded attention. Like a child trying desperately to impress their parent. In the hands of a monster they could slaughter millions. In the hands of a hero they could protect an entire nation.

So color me surprised when the result of my fine display of marksmanship is … well, nothing. Oh, I did kind of almost shoot myself. That's kind of something … right? How did I manage to do this? Well, I apparently shot at a gigantic hunk of zero fucks given!

I mean, come on! I know I'm shooting a .380 here, but it should still at least scratch the bastard! Or maybe tickle him …. The point is, he should feel something! The bullet shouldn't uselessly bounce of his back and ricochet in my direction! Come on! He doesn't even notice I shot at him!

The second and third shots are mainly just to express my frustrations. As is the rampant profanity I toss at the creature. He kind of just ignores me instead focusing on Saber. She doesn't notice me either. Well, she does. I get a mental text message.

 _Praetor, what are you doing?!_ Translation: 'why are you such a moron?' My reply is the mental equivalent of a winky face. Emoticons, totally not irrelevant.

"Well, guess I'll need something bigger." I sigh and look down at the Pico. Forgive me for this, dear friend. But I swear I shall reincarnate you after this is done and over with.

I need some materials to do what I'm going to do. My Pico's a starting point, but I need more to complete my masterpiece. Preferably a decent amount of metal. I look over my shoulder at the large quantity of debris laying around. A product of the accident I've been in.

"That'll do doggie. That'll do."

A quick gathering of junk, a quick incantation, a few prayers to Brother Saive and Brother Vervier, and I'm all set and ready to go. I manage to find the Pico's case too, so the first thing I do is open that up and fish out some magazines.

A quick removal of the Pico's loaded magazine. A careful unloading of said magazine, and … why is this starting to read like a cooking recipe?

Step 1: Just a pinch of wood, courtesy of what I was guessing was once the dashboard (got to love that vintage look).

Step 2: A tiny smidgen of cloth, granted to me by the ever wondrous seat belt. I refer to it as such because it likely saved my life.

Step 3: The main component. Metal. Shit tons of it.

A tire iron I found underneath the back seats. With some red stuff on it I figure is jam. Strawberry jam. A large chunk of the crumpled passenger door. An empty soda can I likely forgot to throw out. And finally, what I can only presume is half a stop sign. It's red, and has the letters 's' and 't'. Guess we hit a stop sign. Just love breaking the rules of the road.

"Isn't that right you wannabe Power Rangers' villain!" I definitely could have come up with a better insult.

All the ingredients are ready. Set out in front of me in the order of which they'll be assembled. Really I look like a lunatic trying to do something with this crap. Ignoring the concerned yelling of Saber, I continue to take my damn time on this very delicate process.

"Scream quieter woman! I'm trying to focus!" My response is not at all positive. Her reply is even less positive.

"What is wrong with you Praetor?! I am merely worrying over your safety and you continue to be an intolerable fool! Is now really the best time to be an ignoramus?" I ignore her. Such a question is not worthy of an answer. It's always time to be an ignoramus, no matter how dire the situation may be.

I begin my process. Three words are all I need.

"Transmute." Transmutation is first. What was previously weak run of the mill steel and aluminum turns into the equivalent of the grade you'd find in the best of assembly lines. The cheap pseudo-wood grain dashboard becomes genuine walnut. The gunpowder in the Pico's cartridges becomes pure, unadulterated prana. Converted from a mere propellant in need of ignition into a highly condensed source of energy I can directly focus and control. Essentially it streamlines the process of crafting rounds, allowing me to assemble them quicker at the cost of wasting far more prana.

"Alter." Next is alteration. The Pico warps. The barrel disassembling seemingly by itself, melting and reforming into a single square of sheet metal. My various components start melding into a single one. The tire iron becomes a barrel. The scrap metal morphs into a receiver (with the lower and upper already combined) and a folding stock. What was once the Pico is now just a pistol grip. That too starts to shift into place. The seatbelt becomes a sling. A simple attachment but one that would be quite useful.

Alteration specializes in changing the properties of the target of interest. Poisoning the tip of a blade. Making clothing fireproof. That sort of thing. I doubt there's anyone else in the world that uses it for something like what I'm using it for. Mainly because Mages are snobs. They sneer at the more mundane aspects of society. Their loss.

"Reinforce." The last spell starts working its magic (pun intended). So many things can go wrong with this sort of thing. The metal I use could be too weak, and it could end up causing the receiver to blow up in my face. The stock could break underneath the stress of recoil. The barrel could actually melt underneath the strain of constant firepower.

In order to avoid this I have to try my best to strengthen everything. Improving the durability of everything from the stock to the sling. It's going to need to hold up to a lot of pressure. If it doesn't … well this won't be pleasant. Good thing I'm somewhat experienced when it comes to these things. The crafting, not the blowing up. Well, I'm experienced in both, but that's beside the point.

I read these spells off like a checklist. Three different forms of magic. Brought together for one purpose. What was once a pile of junk and a small handgun has now become a fully assembled battle rifle. My weapon has been assembled. Some would refer to this as alchemy. Though to me alchemy is more akin to potions, poisons, and general crafting. I don't think of myself as an alchemist. The Einzbern's were alchemists. Those buffoons in Atlas are alchemists. I'm no alchemist.

I'm a gunsmith.

It takes thirty seconds, which is actually a bit slow for me. There was one time I did something like this in five seconds. On the run. I'm just a little rusty right now. It has nothing to do with how much I enjoy hearing Saber's frustrated grunts as she desperately tries to defeat the monster. Nothing to do with it at all. I definitely am not stalling to make her waste more time on a battle she probably can't win. Nope. That would be mean of me. And I am most definitely not mean.

I pick up the newly minted rifle, carefully examining it for any flaws. It's kind of an amalgamation of materials, with a handguard made of wood, a grip made of polymer, and a stock made of metal. Not really the prettiest thing. Still, it should do what I need it to do.

Just have to put a few more final touches and it'll be ready to rip. Speaking of ripping, I do exactly that to the headrest of the closest seat. Ripping it out of place. The rest part itself is tossed aside, what I really want are the metal prongs that attach it to the seat. A quick fix and I've just crafted a makeshift bipod. Perfect for improving my accuracy.

Next is the magazine. It's assembled using an empty tin flask and some of the Pico's spare magazines. Found that flask next to the soda can. Kind of wish I had found it before all this. It would have been nice to have. Oh well, priorities. Bullets over booze.

Speaking of the bullets, they're assembled in an odd fashion. By this I mean I basically just elongate the Pico's cartridges. I've already converted prana into the propellant, so that lets me skip ahead to actual loading the magazine. It's done in a methodical manner, each individual round rapidly being inserted into the metal box. I'm a pro at this. Mainly because I'm cheating.

The cartridges load into the magazine of their own volition. It's almost as if they have free will to do as they please. Like one of those Disney movies that anthropomorphizes inanimate objects. In reality it's far less cool. I'm merely loading them into the magazine with a hands free method. Using the prana inside each bullet as a means to move the rounds without actually touching them. Now that I think about it that is sort of cool, I guess.

The magazine's full in record time, and with a single fluid motion it's inserted into the rifle. This is something I do have to manually do. Then with a loving touch I pull back the charging handle. When I release it the bolt slams forward on its own, loading a round in the chamber and signaling that my weapon's hot.

One last thing before this party can get started. I slip a cigarette out of my pocket.

"This won't be my last smoke." It's a little frightening to say that aloud. It sort of makes me think a part of me is worried about doing this. Am I concerned over my mortality? I shouldn't have to tell myself things will be alright. I'm long past that point. But I still said it. Unintentionally maybe, yet it still had to be said. How troublesome. I slip the cigarette into my mouth, lighting it with a cheap lighter that somehow survived the crash. Then I go prone in the van.

The firearm's fine, everything's ready to go, so of course I take the next logical step in this process. What do you do with a gun? You make sweet love to it. I'm joking. Obviously you shoot it.

"Hopefully the boundary field's of decent quality." I mutter to myself. "Or else it's going to be a pain in the ass to handle any witnesses."

The door's still open, and I have a perfect shot on the creature. It's currently flailing around like an idiot. Saber somehow managed to get on its back, and is holding on like a small child that wants a piggyback ride. She's also hacking at it with that massive butter knife of hers whenever possible. Which is why it's spazzing out, trying to claw her off of itself.

A perfect opportunity to cause some mayhem.

I take aim, center mass. No way will I miss. Unless of course the thing bothers to dodge. I don't think it will, the beast is busy with Saber. I slowly depress the trigger of my brand new FN FAL.

Time to show these Heroic Spirits what modern war really is.

The staccato note of a gunshot is a beautiful thing to hear. Especially when it's a larger caliber being fired. 7.62×51 is far from the biggest cartridge on the market, but it still packs a decent punch. Way more so than a .380 ever could do.

But is it enough to pierce this crystalline golem's flesh?

The answer?

Nope.

Not nearly enough.

The bullet smashes into its neck. But it doesn't cause the type of wound typically associated with a rifle shot. Usually they penetrate the target's skin, continue on their trajectory for a few centimeters and then start to tumble. The result is a minor entry wound but a massive exit wound.

I should be able to see the back of this thing's neck collapse. Its spine should be severed. It should collapse, paralyzed from the neck down and gasping for breath. So why the fuck does the bullet instead bounce off of like it would if I were fighting Superman?!

"So does this confirm it's a Servant?" I mumble to myself, confused as to what's happening. "Saber can't hurt it. Shouldn't be so surprised I can't." Then again I wasn't necessarily attempting to kill it. Just stun it. Instead I'm the one stunned. "That's the first time I've ever seen anything ignore a 7.62."

An overwhelming feeling of worthlessness enters my mind. And it isn't just from my own thoughts of inferiority. Saber is getting frustrated by how she's incapable of harming it. Frustrated with what she perceives to be her own failures.

The emotions she's allowing to seep through our mental connection threaten to overwhelm me. She's borderline bipolar. Going directly from doubting herself to being angry at the enemy for questioning her strength. Really wish she kept her issues to herself for now. I have my own problems, and it's really messing with my morale seeing a living legend doubt herself in front of me. Doesn't really get my hopes up for what's to come.

I pull the trigger again. This time the shot's aimed straight at the thing's eye. It hits dead on. The thing blinks. It fucking blinks. Then it swats Saber away. It finally manages to get her in a position where it can smack her off its back. It takes advantage of that. And it swats her like a fly.

I fire again. This time it hits where I presume is the heart. Even less of an effect. The bullet ricochets off into the night.

Another shot. This times the genitalia. Another ricochet. It has balls that are as hard as steel. Maybe harder.

By now I've gotten the thing's attention. This is good because it gives Saber a moment to collect herself. But bad because it means I've made the thing that can tank bullets focus on me. Me. The guy who only has bullets to fight with.

It roars. A roar that sounds eerily similar to the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. I also can hear a faint portion of Godzilla's wail mixed in. Did I end up in the wrong war? Was I now fighting Kaiju? Does this mean I need to build a mech to fight it? So many goddamn questions. Unfortunately I doubt they'll be answered. At least not by the time it takes the thing to get to me. Said time being all of three seconds.

I have to roll backwards to avoid the fist that crushes the van. Barely have time to fold up the bipod and grab ahold of the FAL. A millisecond slower and I would have become a pancake. My bones would have been grounded into dust.

 _Praetor?!_ I ignore Saber's frantic concerns. There are much more immediate concerns in front of me. Those being a giant rock fist, and the giant rock monster attached to said fist.

The entire world seems to be muffled. I can't really comprehend Saber's cries, nor the monster's feral snarls. All I know is one thing. I will not die. Not tonight. Not like this.

I pull the rifle up, the barrel practically pressed against the thing's hand. An audible click shatters peaceful state of my mind. That's the sound of the selector switch being hit. Right now it's my 'oh shit' button.

I fire. From the hip. Without aiming. In full auto. Not exactly the best display of trigger discipline. It takes about two seconds to run the magazine dry. In those two seconds I experience two things. Joy when the thing cries out like a small child that stubbed its toe and confusion when my bullets start whizzing back at me. The Great God above must have deemed today to be the day I get fucked. Definitely not in a good way either. No, in the 'my cell mate's named Bubba' way.

I have to flop around like a beached fish in order to avoid the shrapnel. One manages to graze my thigh. Another zips over my shoulder, slicing through the fabric of my jacket. The creature draws its hand back and it's not because he's retreating. No, that'd be lucky for me. It brings its arm back, attempting once again to crush me like a grape.

For a split second my life flashes before my eyes. The image of a tombstone haunts me, its surface adorned with my name, date of birth, and today's date symbolizing the day I died.

"No!" For once I'm at a loss for words. No witty remarks, no snide comments. Just a single word of protest against what's going to be my cruel end. I dive forward, my best attempt at avoiding my demise. It's not a very good attempt. The creature will crush me, of that I can be certain. But at least I wouldn't have died gawking at it like a fool.

Then everything just turns out for the better. Saber smashes into the thing's side, rage ever present on her face. The creature stumbles in surprise, shifting on one foot as it attempts to keep its balance. I'm saved, ever so temporarily saved. I can't get complacent though, I can still contribute something to this fight.

I crawl on hands and knees to the empty soda can I'd left around. If only I can grab it. If only I can hold it for just a second. I'll have a chance.

I feel my fingers wrap around the aluminum container. I don't even need to vocalize my intentions. The metal knows what I desire, it knows what it needs to do. What was once a simple Pepsi can becomes something so much more. The cheap aluminum shifts into a circular shape, and the metal itself hardens. Prana fills the husk, and all of a sudden I've created a live grenade.

I reload my rifle, dropping the magazine on the ground and allowing spent casings to roll back into it on their own. My prana flows into them, making them whole once more. The metal calls to me, it wants to help me. It needs to do as I ask. The magazine is inserted back into my FAL, and my newly formed grenade is placed on the tip of the gun's barrel.

All of this happens in less than ten seconds. I'm getting back in the groove of things. The monotonous labor of an assembly line. It's all muscle memory to me. As simple as riding a bike or tying one's shoe laces.

I aim the rifle right at the stone monster's face. Despite Saber's valiant tackle the thing is still nearby. She managed to push it back less than a foot. But that's not important. She stunned it. And that's given me a distinct opportunity, one that I fully intend on capitalizing.

I squeeze the trigger, and my mind goes blank. No fear, no anxiety, no emotions cloud my judgement. I cannot worry about any of those trivial things. Not right now. I am the grenade. The grenade is me. It will not miss. It will not fail me. The only option is success.

Somehow the monster managed to grab Saber in the brief moment I was preparing my assault. It roars directly into her face, spittle raining upon her from its mouth. She's in the blast radius and I know this. It won't hurt her though. I told it not to.

Wow, I sound completely insane.

The grenade lands right in the beast's mouth. It swallows it.

"Enjoy that indigestion."

It's one spicy meatball. The grenade goes off. In a normal situation I would have probably been rendered temporarily deaf, but this is not a normal situation. Being in the creature's gullet, the blast hardly registers to my ears. But my eyes can tell it's gone off. The creature stops, and just stands there.

It looks past Saber, off into the distance. That's the look of a being ravaged by war. The thousand yard stare. Something so out of place for such a ferocious horror. Its grip relaxes and Saber falls free. She lands rather gracefully on her feet, and immediately jumps away, seeking to get out of the monster's reach.

The thing burps. It burps off all things, and smoke billows from its maw. Saber gives me a grateful glance, turns towards the colossus and starts to charge. An ecstatic grin adorns her face, she's actually having fun with this.

I barrel towards her, rifle in hand, a roadie run to glory. She's already slamming into the beast, the resounding crash sounding quite akin to a linebacker tackling their unfortunate opponent. The behemoth stumbles even more and staggers backwards, falling ridiculously on its ass. If its backside can even be called an ass.

Saber goes for the final blow. Or at least what she presumes to be the final blow. A terrifying downwards thrust that would likely impale any lesser foe. I seriously doubt she understands the severity of our circumstances.

That thing burped in response to my grenade. It burped. And it didn't burp out blood or any other vile liquid. No, just smoke. Not even any shrapnel. I charged that grenade with enough mana to blow a hole through Fort Knox. This thing reacts to it in the same way a particularly obese man would react to eating one too many slices of pizza.

I don't think the stabby object Saber swings around will do anything to this monster. Heck, she'd be lucky to give it a papercut sized wound with the rate things are going. Nothing short of outright releasing her Noble Phantasm would give her a chance, and I can't really allow that in our first battle.

So really, there's only one conceivable choice in this sort of scenario. Only one tactical option for us to choose.

"Run like hell!"

I tackle Saber in the same manner she tackled the creature, but instead of seeking to knock her down I merely scoop her up in my arms. Quite fortunate she's a shrimp. And also quite fortunate I crafted that sling for my rifle. It allows me to keep the thing on my back, and gives me free reign to use my hands.

Said hands are currently holding Saber tightly to my chest so as to avoid her swinging that ridiculous cleaver at me. She can't really maneuver it as long as she's awkwardly pressed against me. At least not without spraining a wrist.

"Praetor! What are you doing?!" Her shrill screaming falls on deaf ears. The thing that's responsible for raising my insurance deductibles is already getting back up on its feet. I'm not thinking logically in this sort of situation. If I were I probably would have ordered Saber to carry me instead.

But that'd be even more demeaning than running away with my tail between my legs. And it'd also be very uncomfortable. She'd probably carry me like I carried the Matou kid. I am most certainly not a sack of potatoes. I refuse to be carried as such.

The thing roars at our retreat. Funny enough, its moment of ferocity is cut short when it starts coughing out smoke clouds. Oh I really hope I muffled this thing just a little. Sadly I can't do the same to Saber. Her sword's gone, in its place is her empty fist. She's currently smacking me on the forehead with that fist. Thankfully, it's not even done using a fraction of her strength. If she actually hit me I'd probably be unconscious.

"Are you a complete buffoon?! The enemy is right there! We can't retreat!" I tone her out for a second, instead focusing on flooding prana into my legs. A little reinforcement certainly can't hurt. "This is beyond cowardly! Quite unbefitting for an emperor! I demand you take me back to the battle." She folds her arms against her chest, and does something completely imaginable in a warzone.

She pouts. Like a petulant child that didn't get what they wanted for Christmas. Does she honestly think this will work against me? Am I really supposed to give in to the puppy dog eyes? Now? When the devil is on my heels? This woman is simply deranged.

"Oh cool, you're an emperor." I focus on her pitiful slip up, instead of humoring her complaints. It silences her for a moment. And then her brain registers the loud echoing rumbles that can be only one of two things.

The first being a gigantic rave that somehow spontaneously started in the middle of a warzone. The second a runaway sumo wrestler that stumbled across our interaction.

Oh wait, I have a better explanation.

The stupid rock bastard that's trying to crush us.

Yeah, that's probably what that noise is.

The thing's massive weight creates a quite serenating sound with each step it takes. That melody reminds me of a steamroller slowly flattening a junk car. How nice. Of course our current predicament is much worse than the simple compliment 'nice'. No, we're probably going to look quite like a junk car flattened by a steamroller.

There's a living (questionable) breathing (also questionable) freight train charging us. The sonofabitch doesn't even have the decency to blow his steam whistle. Shame, I quite like the sound of steam whistles. They make a nice Choo Choo sound. Reminds me of my childhood; Thomas the Tank Engine and that sort of thing.

Ah, now I'm reminiscing on when I was a wee lad of the age of six, mama and papa were out and I had the telly all to myself …. Oh my, did it just toss my van?

 **Did it just toss my van?!**

I made the mistake of glancing over my shoulder. What a mistake indeed. Not only did I have to bear witness to the terrifying sight that was this seemingly invincible giant, but I also had to watch as the thing abruptly changed direction and instead ran towards my vehicle. Originally this caused a small portion of hope to rise in my heart. That was swiftly crushed once I realized what it was doing.

It picks up my van. Then it chucks it in my direction. It throws my car. At me. My car. I spent a little bit of money on that car. Even installed that nice vintage wood dashboard. Why would you do something so inconceivably rude as to toss it at me?! Toss it, like someone would throw a paper ball. But it's not a paper ball. It's my fucking car! It wasn't enough for you to crush it? You have to damage it more?!

Oh, and did I mention it's heading my way? Yeah. I'm probably going to become a pile of goo in about three seconds.

One.

Two.

Three.

In one of the most dazzling displays of flexibility I've ever seen Saber manages to wiggle out of my grasp, (wait … could she do that this whole time?) materialize her blade, and spin through the air like a ballerina. A ballerina of death.

Oh wait, I already used the ballerina/dancer comparison. Perhaps 'ballerina' isn't the best term for her display. Maybe Beyblade is a better term. She jumps in the air and spins around like a fucking Beyblade. A Beyblade of death.

Of course my poor, innocent van can't help but be awed by such an amazing display. So awed in fact that it doesn't so much as try to avoid careening straight towards Saber's attack, immediately getting chopped up in a blender of sword strikes ….

My Baby!

I can't properly mourn the death of my pedo van as a somewhat sizeable piece of shrapnel flies straight at me.

Fortunately I speak to the metal. Using telekinesis and the powers of friendship, I motivate the slab of van to stop its path of destruction and instead embrace me as a comrade in arms. A metal buddy.

Ha.

Did you actually believe that? Do you think we're in a cartoon? This is real life, not a fantasy.

And in real life there's a little thing called Newton's laws of motion. Believe me, they suck.

Instead of the glorious bromance between man and metal, what I think was once a sliding door falls on top of me, pinning me to the ground like a cockroach underneath the heel of a particularly sadistic human. Thankfully I didn't partner up with some ridiculous savage clone of the once and future king, because my fellow warrior doesn't just continue to rush towards what could have quite possibly been her annihilation.

Instead she has the sense to worry about me. Quite nice of her considering I'm in a rather precarious situation. Being squished underneath a heavy hunk of steel isn't what I'd consider a happy ending.

Saber speeds back to my side, her eyes scanning my form in search of any life threatening injuries. I have none. At most I've bruised a few ribs, but that's not my main concern. My inability to move is. I'm trapped underneath this thing. Err … I technically could get out of this, but it'd take a little too long. It's quicker for Saber to swoop in and save me like the damsel I am. And every second is important in this. A second too late and we'll end up being like my van.

"Praetor … forgive me." Oh, neato, she feels guilty. Completely unnecessary. I would have probably gotten myself into this situation regardless of her interference. In fact without her transforming into a gyro ball I would have likely been crushed by an even heavier hunk of metal. In which case I would have become tomato soup.

"Heh, if I could move my arms I'd probably give you a high five." There's a moment of silence between us. Her expression is one of sheer shock. Then it warps into a smile and she moves to help me up.

And that's precisely when a bloodcurdling roar rips through the night.

"Oh yeah. Almost forgot about him."

"Praetor! Hurry!" Saber tosses aside the debris as if it weighs nothing, and extends her hand for me to grab. I grab her by the arm, but I don't allow myself to be pulled up. No, I instead pull her to me.

She lands on top of me, a quite unpleasant collision, but it isn't a moment too soon. The muscled fist of our assailant soars right over our heads. Just a moment later and she would have been sent flying, and I would have been left at the mercy of this damn thing. There isn't any room for a misstep in our dance of destruction. And it isn't over. Not anywhere close to being over.

We're both on the ground, less than a foot away from this goliath. I toss Saber off of me and reach backwards to grab my rifle. If I hadn't reinforced it, the weapon would have likely been sheet metal by now. Instead I still have a fully operational firearm. Granted it isn't in the best shape, with its canted iron sights and scratched receiver, but it should still fire. I don't get the chance to try.

Saber's faster than me. She already has her sword out and starts to go to town on ol' Rocky. She's doing quite well too. I don't think it expected her to attack it with such viciousness. It's completely different from her previous style. There's no grace, no elegance, just rage. She's like a violent inferno, razing everything in its path.

For some reason she's furious with the thing. Maybe she mourns the loss of my van just as much as I do? I suppose it doesn't really matter.

What does matter is the fact that this thing's practically invincible. Slashes that tear through the asphalt road like its butter do nothing against this creature. Not even a scratch. Only one option. The original option.

Run away.

It isn't something I relish. This thing's too close right now for both of us to retreat at the same time. Which means I'll be entrusting a girl that's hardly five feet tall to keep a monster back long enough for me to get out of here. Honestly, it's beyond embarrassing.

Running away is shameful enough. But running away and abandoning an ally is borderline blasphemous. This brings me to the other problem. I'll be leaving Saber behind to handle this thing. Granted she has a better chance of taking it down than I do, but she'll still need all the help she can get.

Forcing her to protect me while also fighting this thing is tantamount to suicide. Either way we're screwed. What can I do? Saber's continuing to hold it back, slamming into it with enough force to push back a landslide. It goes without saying that she's impressive.

Which…. makes me feel even more inadequate.

I glance down at the weapon in my hands. Wait. I have a gun. I'm not completely useless. But a mere rifle won't be enough to take down this thing. I'm going to need a bigger boat. Uh … I mean gun. I'm going to need a bigger gun. My mantra is spoken once again. This time in a whisper, "Mutata in manibus meis."

I have no doubts that Saber would continue to attack this creature even if she fully understood its invulnerability. But she might change her mind if two things happened. One, I were to be in danger. And two, the creature was delayed long enough for us to actually attempt to flee.

So there's only one option. The FN FAL is cradled in my arms like an infant. It's my child. Something I created with my own two hands. And now it's going to be all grown up. Daddy's so, so proud.

The rifle warps, becoming far thinner than it once was. Nice to see that low bullet diet paid off. The barrel falls right out of place and lands right into my lap. It's still changing though, just like the rest of the rifle.

The rear sight stretches out, elongating both vertically and horizontally and becoming rectangular shaped. It looks quite like an open door leading straight into the depths of hell. The front sight grows, slowly extending upwards until it starts to look more like an unfinished keyhole. I'm thinking quite a lot about doors lately. Maybe it's because I was practically part of one not even thirty seconds ago.

The magazine falls out of my rifle. It morphs into a weird oval shape and, upon touching the barrel in my lap, combines into an object that looks more akin to the stamen of a flower. And that's when something begins to bud out from it, excess metal forming into a smaller recreation of what I guess could be called the anther of this stamen. Ok, we went from door imagery to flower imagery. Thanks brain.

Meanwhile my rifle's undergone an unholy transformation, becoming more like a piece of pipe with two pistol grips slapped onto it. Oh, and a flared end that looks like the bell of a trombone. Basically what I'm saying is I've just created a fugly abomination. My Frankenstein monster.

What I have is the guerrilla fighter's anti-tank weapon of choice. A weapon that's been used by everyone from the Taliban to the Russian Army. The RPG-7. I think. Maybe it's an RPG-7V2? Sue me for not remembering the exact differences between Russian grenade launchers.

Whatever V it is, it's quite a difference from the FN FAL, a gun that was nicknamed 'the Right Arm of the Free World'. But that doesn't make in any less deadly. In fact, right now it's probably going to pack a hell of a punch.

I insert the weird stamen shaped thing into the launcher. It's actually called a PG-7VR, a dual HEAT warhead that detonates twice to combat the reactive armor tanks typically use. Though I'm not going to get into the specifics of how it does this. It's boring and talking a bunch of gun porn just makes me look like an ass.

Just know that it blows up twice, the second boom being much bigger than the first.

Saber! Throw me backwards! Two mental commands. Just two. I take aim at the beast, the warhead pointed directly at its center mass. At this range the blast would kill me too.

Which is why I told Saber to throw me, now if only she doesn't question ….

I'm tossed away like a ragdoll. Miraculously I manage to retain my grasp on the grenade launcher and as such I perform what is probably the first rocket jump in human history. Albeit, I'm not really shooting a rocket, and I'm not actually jumping. But 'rocket-propelled grenade hurl' doesn't roll of the tongue nearly as well.

Saber, despite not even realizing what I'm doing, somehow registers that I just shot a modern day cannonball in her general direction. She also seems to realize she tossed me like a baseball. I'm guessing that was done purely through instinct. Or maybe she was just subconsciously desiring to toss me aside this entire time?

Regardless, she figures out that something's up. And she also figures out that she should probably get the hell out of Dodge. She stops abruptly in her battle against the beast, and changes course moving backwards, away from the blast zone, and closer to me. Hopefully she'll get here soon, I would prefer not landing on my ass after doing something so awesome. It'd be anticlimactic.

The warhead smashes straight into our friend the rock beast. The smaller 64mm part detonates first. It penetrates the thing's thick hide, cutting a hole straight into the monstrosity's chest. This alone would be impressive, considering nothing else has so much as scratched the bastard, but it's not even the end. There's still the 105mm warhead. The second blast is even more spectacular than the first. Debris rips through the air, shrapnel hurled at speeds faster than the human eye can track. It's not the warhead itself that's causing this. No, that's not intended to blow the thing up. At least from the outside. The creature's very own body is causing this.

If I had x-ray vision I would have been capable of witnessing the ultimate heart burn. Flames as hot as the surface of the sun are bathing the inside of this thing's body, literally cooking him from the inside out. Internal cremation isn't its main concern though. The liquefaction of its flesh is. That first charge did something oh so cruel. That small little hole it made? That allowed the entire explosion to focus, funneling all the shrapnel, heat, and fire straight to the beast's heart. Or at least where I suppose it should have its heart.

At the point of the warhead where the second explosion first detonated something even worse happened. Something that explained how so much shrapnel could come from such a relatively small grenade. The heat of the blast radius melted the creature's skin, and then those shards of its flesh jettisoned straight into the hole the first detonation made.

This is why this warhead is particularly potent against tanks. (Or at least it was before engineers stepped up their game.) It didn't need to blast a massive hole through armor. All it did was turn the armor against the enemy. What should protect the crew instead becomes the cause of their demise, melting into a super-hot shrapnel storm that rains upon those inside.

Damn, I said I wasn't going to explain all this and I ended up doing it anyway. Shit. Lesson over kids, back to killing monsters.

This thing took a 7.62. It took all of Saber's strength. It could not take the RPG. It wasn't meant to. It could easily deflect blows, but it couldn't stand up against penetration. There's a joke to be made here. It's an easy one to make though, so I'm going to avoid going after the low hanging fruit. Bwahahaha!

Perhaps if it hadn't relied so much on its rugged exterior it would have stood a better chance. Simply moving out of the way of the projectile would have been enough. The shrapnel of the first explosion only moves at around twice the speed of sound. That's child play for a Servant. Of course I still ain't if this thing is a Servant or not. So maybe it couldn't have dodged. It does not matter right now.

See the molten shrapnel shaking around in the thing's chest cavity? Surprisingly, it doesn't stop its path of destruction. It slices through the thing's back, and goes straight into those wimpy looking wings. Looks like the tenacity of its hide translated well to its strength as a projectile. It just refuses to give in.

Those wings? Yeah, they end up shattering into a million pieces, and those pieces are currently flying around in the air. That's where all this debris is coming from. It's shooting everywhere, to the point where Saber actually has to draw her blade to deflect it. These are lethal splinters that can turn a man into grated cheese. If I get hit by one I'm going to end up looking like I went through a meat grinder. So of course Saber has to save me. In midair. While she's desperately attempting to reach me before I fall to the ground. Did I mention she's impressive?

There's an odd scream from the creature. Not a roar, a scream. It's crying out in pain as pieces from its own wings slice its haunches to ribbons. Which essentially means it's being torn up from both the front and the back. Heh heh. Double penetration. Heh heh. I'm quite satisfied right now. The thing that tried to kill us is now crying out in agony. It's a far cry from the invincible creature we once faced.

Saber manages to grab me, plucking me out of the air, and just like that we're out of there. I don't even get to see the thing go through its final death throes. The smoke from the explosion, and the subsequent clouds of dust that were kicked up, impairs my vision. Luckily I don't have to worry, Saber's carting me away, and there's no way that thing's going to manage to catch us now. Even if it did somehow manage to endure an RPG shot.

"Hey pal, can I at least get a piggyback ride?" Saber's carrying me rather awkwardly. I feel more like a kitten being carried away by its mother than a soldier carted away from the battlefield. It would be worse if I were still holding the launcher. I'm glad it's reformed into the Pico. A handgun is much easier to hold.

Unfortunately Saber doesn't seem to be in a mood to joke. She fixates a glare down on me. "That was rather reckless, Praetor."

I can't help it. I let a massive shit eating grin form on my face. "But it worked."

There's a moment of silence between us. And then … she looks back down on me with a somewhat sizeable grin on her face as well. "Mmm … yes, I suppose it did."

That's probably the closest I'll ever get to a 'good job' from her. I can't help but release a content sigh. Things are going better than I expected. They're not going like I planned, but so far that's not necessarily a bad thing. Hopefully my luck, or lack of luck, will continue to hold out.

But for now all I have to worry about is Saber taking me home. "Circle around the neighborhood a few times to throw off anyone tailing us. Then go here." I send her a mental Google Maps image of my house. That should be enough to get her there.

"Praetor, your house looks rather bland." I don't answer her. Guess I accidentally sent her more than just the location of it. Screw it. In fact, an image of the thing might help her find it better.

I'm kind of tired. Even more than before that brute clobbered my van. I can feel myself nodding off, slowly succumbing to my exhaustion. Man, hopefully she won't need me to do anything like unlock the front gate and the door. I would have to stay awake. Eh, she can just kick it down. I'm tired.

"Oh, tired are we? Do not worry Praetor, I shall protect you while you sleep. Sweet dreams." I can already imagine that damn smile on her face but … thanks Saber. I'm just hoping I won't have any nightmares. Those suck.

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 **AN: Yet another cliffhanger ending! Sorry 'bout that, but this felt like a rather good place to leave off. Especially considering how long this chapter is already. The next chapter's going to be far less action packed. More comedy/slice of life based, showing off some interactions between Saber and Dante.**

 **Also, apologies for the massive technical info dump involving both Dante's magic and the weapons he uses this chapter. I did that here just to be as detailed as possible in this fight, and to sort of display the exact differences between Dante's power in this fic in comparison to GEGE. Trust me, it won't be like this in the future. You're probably just going to see the quick little mentions of Dante building blank firearm, and then he's just going to start using it right off the bat. No wordy descriptions from me.**

 **Now as a response to King0fP0wers, well I won't judge you for shipping Kiara and Dante. Much. You sick, sick fiend! Granted, I can see the allure. Both are extremely ... odd characters. To be honest I can see some similarities between Kiara and Nero. They're both attention whores with dark pasts. I don't want to spoil too much about who's going to be in this. But I'll throw you a bone, Rider's going to be involved still. But she won't be summoned by Shinji. After all, he already summoned his Servant. There is one Master who hasn't though ... Wonder who that could be? As for Karna, well to be frank I'm not that savvy with Hindu mythology. But I have done some consideration towards including him. He probably won't replace anyone. It'll be more of a 'the Grail's broken' thing. Perhaps he'll be a late summon, after some else dies. Thanks for the review!**

 **One last thing, big shout out to King Keith. He undertook the massive job of reviewing this chapter, and I'd say he did a pretty good job. This chapter would be far worse without his input. Why don't you give his work a look as a token of appreciation? And feel free to review this chapter as well. I would be eternally grateful. Plus it'd help me avoid stupid mistakes in the future. Believe me, none of us want to see me make stupid mistakes. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Next chapter- Money for Nothing. Where you'll see Saber bankrupt Dante in the span of two days.**


	5. Burned to Serve As Nocturnal Light

**Disclaimer: This chapter was originally like 12,000 words. I've split in half in order to make it less of an editing ordeal. Enjoy!**

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She stands over him, looking down upon his slumbering form as he lays before her on a rusted bench. The rusted bench she placed him on mere moments ago. She carefully observes every breath he exhales, every minute elevation of his chest as it draws in oxygen. He is alive. But he isn't waking.

Saber places a hand upon his cheek, softly caressing her Master's flesh. He doesn't even flinch from the contact. "Praetor …."

He is an erratic man. She has realized this. Every moment she spends around him confuses her greatly. The man is a walking contradiction. Broken. He can't be called sane. Nor would it be fair to refer to him as insane. He merely is a walking paradox. An oxymoron if you will. He is ….

Impulsive. Moving as if every second were his last and rushing forward without looking back.

Eccentric. As he rambled on in seemingly meaningless tangents of thought.

Risky. For he had put himself in mortal danger for no apparent reason. One could almost call him careless in how he had acted.

Yet during that battle something had burned deep within him. She had felt it. Their connection made sure she did. Gone was the tired man from before. The man that targets children in order to accelerate his victory. In place of that decayed shell was a warrior. One who knew how to put on an impressive show.

In some strange way his actions remind her of the brutal showmen of her era, the gladiators. She tries not to imagine him as such, as it would be a disservice to his social class, but the image sticks in her mind. It doesn't at all help that he's crass, crude, and utterly uncivilized. Yes. He is very much like a gladiator.

However, it might be best to view him as something other than a gladiator. For it will besmirch her standing to fight alongside one of such a low character. Even if that is truly the reality of her situation, she can at least pretend it isn't. Now, what can he be? Her Master needs a more suitable class. She chose the Saber class because it was the best class. Therefore, her Master deserves a comparison of equal importance.

Perhaps a Praetorian? Immediately she is reminded of his personality …it almost causes her to giggle at the thought of such a man belonging part of her guard. It would make for an interesting story …. One of a thuggish captain, harshly punishing those who dared to disrespect his Emperor. The thought causes her to positively glow with pride. It fizzles once she tries to imagine Dante as such a guard. The man's ridiculously arrogant smirk simply would not fit the role of a protector. No, maybe such a man does belong in the brutish category of 'gladiator'. And yet …. She is slightly disappointed this is the case.

She sighs, her bosom shifting slightly from the act, as she stares at the man's form. Still, he is her Praetor. And he's surprised her more than once this night. Maybe he will surprise her some more. She had stopped briefly to familiarize herself with the surrounding terrain. His house is just over the horizon, close enough that she could toss him to it if she wished. Even with her D ranked Strength.

She scoops him up like a mother picking up their baby. "Let us see if your home is properly furnished, Praetor. I am most interested in how you will surprise me this time." Talk about jinxing yourself.

Five minutes later and Saber desperately wishes she could claw out her own eyes. Or at least rip off her nose. Even if it would tarnish her beauty, the thought of smelling this stench for another second sets her into frenzy. Her head is killing her, a migraine far more intense than any she ever remembers experiencing.

"What kind of cretin leaves their trash lying around?! One's home is not meant to look like a landfill!" Her arms fly around emphatically. She had stepped on a rotten slice of pizza within her first ten seconds in his house. That had been the start of her temper tantrum. That poor slice of pizza had acted as the spark to set off this powder keg.

"What are these tacky pieces of paper stapled to the walls?!" She rips off a movie poster from the wall, bringing it closer to her face in order to properly read it. "Who is this Al Pacino? Why does Praetor believe him to be so important his face is on the wall?" She tosses the object on the ground. "Unacceptable, Praetor should only have pictures of me on the wall."

She takes another step forward, this time making sure to avoid the half-eaten pieces of foodstuffs he had littered across the floor. They're like landmines she has to tiptoe around to avoid. With an Agility rank of A there's no way she'll accidentally step on anything now that she's aware of the mess. Except … she does exactly that. She slips on a banana peel. An actual banana peel. It's almost like God himself placed it there, just to spite the King of Roses for persecuting his chosen people.

In this case, God just so happened to have the sense of humor most often found in Looney Tunes cartoons.

She slips, dramatically spins around in midair, and lands face first into a pile of dirty socks.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she rises from the filth. A half-chewed wad of gum is stuck to her forehead. Vaguely, she realizes it's attachment to her. Vaguely, she realizes that her hands are placed atop a soiled pair of boxers. Vaguely, she realizes someone must pay for this.

She couldn't punish her Praetor sufficiently. Punishing him sufficiently would have included crucifixion. Possibly with a side of immolation. But, she would have only done that had he done this to her intentionally. She didn't think that to be the case. After all, the man hadn't been actively trying to summon her and had simply taken the role of her Master after dispatching her preadolescent summoner.

He wouldn't have left such a mess had he known of her arrival. She sorely wishes he had warned her beforehand, but what's done is done. Now, on the off chance this was intentional on his part, the Colosseum needed to be constructed right away. Because her 'gladiator' would be tossed to the beasts straight away.

She tells herself this in not the case. It must merely be a misunderstanding. No fool would leave their abode in such terrible shape if they knew an emperor would be visiting them. Dante was no fool, so therefore he had done this accidentally.

She also doesn't feel right planning his crucifixion. He's sleeping on the floor next to her, covered in the same mess she's in. It would be nothing short of evil to disturb the peaceful look on his face. And it seems like a bad omen to wish such ill will towards the man when he's not even awake to defend himself. Which means the only thing she can turn her frustrations upon is the mess itself.

It makes sense. After all, this mess sullied her clothes. Praetor is also a victim here. She shudders at the thought of his daily life. "Poor Praetor. This vile filth must have been torture to him." Her mind is trying to rationalize this all. There's no way he actually lived like this intentionally. She had said it herself. Albeit in an exasperated wail.

Above all else she just couldn't handle the thought that she might have a Master so disgustingly lazy he willingly lived like a pig. She couldn't dare entertain that thought. Due to these mental gymnastics, Dante would end up being quite lucky. Well, not completely ….

Someone still had to pay. And she'd already decided it was going to be the mess itself. That mess exists throughout the entire house.

So, there's only one option. Purification. Of everything. Effective immediately.

Meanwhile, her Praetor dreams of a very strange time. It takes place in a time in which alcoholism is the norm, and where penises are involved in practically every form of art. An era that can be summed up in one word. Degeneracy.

Rather fitting for a man like Dante di Prinzi.

* * *

 **Chapter 5- Burned to Serve As Nocturnal Light**

I must have slept through the night. It's daytime out now. Something feels … off. I don't know what it is. This just doesn't feel like Fuyuki anymore. It's much more beautiful, with a vast array of shrubbery sprinkled around for decorative purposes. They really spruce up things, and I can't help but conclude that wherever I happen to be, it's far livelier than Fuyuki ever was.

Something tells me I've been here before. The architecture feels familiar. It's made entirely out of marble, and the architect that designed it was quite lax with his use of columns and arches. Why, it feels almost like I'm in Rome. But that's impossible. There's no way I traveled so many thousands of miles without noticing.

I glance around, looking for someone distinguishable in the crowd that's surrounds me. Something on my head shifts around uncomfortably. Am I wearing a hat? Whatever it is, it's rather heavy. How odd. I'm not particularly fond of headwear. I want to take it off, to look at what I'm wearing, but for some reason my arms refuse to move.

Huh. I must still be exhausted. Probably just because I overexerted myself. That fight did take a lot out of me. Shouldn't have been so reckless. Saber could have held that thing off long enough for me to escape. But I couldn't abandon her. It just didn't feel right. Regardless, my regrets about that night don't matter now.

It's the morning after and I'm in an unknown location. I have to find Saber, and figure out how to get back. Who knows what'll happen to Fuyuki in my absence. I start walking forward. I … don't particularly know where I'm going. I didn't want to go in this direction, my feet just started walking of their own volition.

My footwear clicks against the road with each step I take. Why are they doing that? I was wearing combat boot before. Those shouldn't be clicking on the ground like goddamn high heels. I walk through the crowd, for some reason they actual part to the side in order to grant me a path forward. It's like Moses' splitting of the Red Sea.

Again, I don't know what's going on, and I'm beginning to feel even more uncomfortable with this entire situation. And why the hell are these people giants? They have to be at least seven feet tall! My head only comes up to their chests. Yet I still make eye contact with each and every one of them.

This almost feels like a cutscene in a videogame. I have absolutely zero control over my body. I'm like a member of the audience, merely watching things happen through the perspective of the protagonist. This is terrifying. Part of me starts to panic. This is agonizing. Not at all unlike being buried alive. An intense feeling of claustrophobia overtakes me at that thought. My body has become some sort of prison, and my actions are no longer my own. I need to do something. I need to figure out what's going on.

"Imperatrix!"

One of the crowd's ilk rushes towards me. The action would normally cause me to stiffen, simply out of paranoia that an ambush was taking place. However, I do no such thing. My muscles remain relaxed, my stance casual, and for some damn reason a smile plasters itself across my face. Not a smirk. A smile. And not even a sly one. No, a genuine honest smile.

The crowd stiffens for me. Someone even tries to grab the person who rushed towards me, likely wishing to pull them back in their midst. The one who called out to me pushes them off and my vision focuses on their appearance. A beautiful young woman. A brunette. With long flowing curls. Her figure is like that of an hourglass. This is a woman that could pass for being a supermodel. A Mona Lisa, the type who'd be used as a reference point for artists working on their magnum opus.

She charges straight for me, and for a hesitant moment I assume she's going to tackle me. She doesn't, apparently showing at least some restraint. Instead she stops barely a foot away, wipes her hands on her dress (which looks more like some kind of toga now that I think about it) and bows deeply.

A jumbled mess of words pours forth from her mouth. I recognize it as being Latin. But it's different than the Latin I know. The syllables are off. It's a different dialect than that spoken in the Church. It is far too formal for my tastes. It sounds stuffy, pompous even. I have to work at processing what this girl's saying. I get the gist of it, but even with what I can understand it is all rather confusing.

She continues speaking. Something about it being an honor to meet me. Also how she believes in me. This useless flattery continues for a good thirty seconds. Throughout all of it the crowd's looking at me with apprehension. I don't know why. Which isn't surprising. I have no idea what's going on, period.

My 'fan' stops speaking, bows her head deeply and seems to be taking her leave of me. For some reason my arm reaches out and stops her. My hand lightly strokes the side of her face. Why … is my hand so slender? Ha, ha, my hands have shrunk. Is this some kind of joke? And then I speak. Or rather, the body I inhabit speaks. For that is certainly not my voice. It's again in this antiquated style, but I still can make out most of it. But that's not the part that worries me. No, what worries me is the fact that my voice is distinctly feminine. What the fuck?

"You are a most beautiful creature. Even Venus would be jealous of your looks. Worry not my fair subject, for I shall serve you well." There are a lot more flowery parts in there, but I'm condensing it. No point in translating useless shit that's mostly just compliments and ridiculous metaphors.

The woman blushes, and tears, of all things, start to form in her eyes. She thanks me profusely, and I feel my head nod up and down in response. It's incredibly awkward. But I can't help but feel it's going to get worse.

Yup. I'm right. It gets worse.

I embrace her.

Holding her tightly like a long lost lover I've finally been reunited with. In doing so, I realize three things.

One, that my face is pressed right into her breasts.

Two, she's intoxicatingly soft. Like seriously. This is some Tempur-Pedic shit.

And three, I have breasts of my own.

I don't know why I hadn't realized this before. Maybe it's because I'm used to carrying heavy things while walking. Or maybe it's because I couldn't look down since I couldn't control my body. Or maybe I just kind of accepted having melons glued to me. Whatever the case, I have boobs. I know this because they press against the other woman's lower abdomen. So … I'm a chick? What kind of weird fever dream have I gotten myself into this time? This is some LSD Dream Emulator level shenanigans.

The embrace is broken when another man from the crowd pulls her away from me. He bows his head in my presence, practically touching the ground in doing so. Another collection of gibberish spews from his mouth. He's apologizing for the girl, who's apparently his daughter. My body again moves on its own accord, shaking its head violently back and forth. Great, I'm starting to get a headache from this.

I reply to him, "Nonsense. I have time for each of my subjects. I love all of you, for you are all special to me, and to Roma." More nonsensical bullshit.

Before this little conversation can continue, a balding man pushes his way past the crowd and calls out to me. "Nero! Come on! Your mother is waiting!" 'Nero'?

A hearty chuckle escapes my lips. "Let her wait. I am attending to my people's needs."

The man sighs. He's a middle-aged fellow. Looks somewhat similar to Curly from the Three Stooges. Yet that serious expression on his face tells me he his personality is probably quite different from Curly's.

"Nero, the inauguration is set to start in an hour. We must return at once. You need to be properly prepared for the celebrations."

I giggle. Holy shit I just giggled. That's disgusting. I mean, I can handle the whole genderbent thing, but I refuse to be giggling. That's beyond abhorrent behavior.

"My dear Seneca, You worry far too much."

'Seneca' scowls at me, and opens his mouth to likely chastise me. I sigh, and then that far too cheerful smile finds its way back on my face.

"But I understand. I will follow mother's wishes."

Seneca, seems sufficiently pleased by this. He nods, and walks away likely expecting me to follow him. I'm not at all surprised when my body runs in the opposite direction. A giddy laugh emanates from my lips and echoes off into the distance.

Its response is simple, blunt, and tells me trouble is afoot.

Seneca's voice calls out to me. "Neeerrrooo!" Clearly he's not happy.

Well, I don't blame him. I'm not too happy either. I'm stuck in a foreign land in the body of a woman that goes by the name 'Nero'. It can't be the one known as Emperor Nero, can it? That was a man, not a woman. There's no way I'm him. Or is he me? Are we each other, or no one at all? This is confusing me. I'm confusing myself.

There is one little thought that digs its way into my mind. "Didn't Saber say she was an Emperor?" I can't be her. Or she can't be me. Shit. Let's avoid going down that rabbit hole twice. Did I just figure out Saber's identity? I don't know. Maybe I can ask her about it when I'm not trapped in a chick's body.

Speaking of which, I better not be stuck like this for an extended period of time. I mean, it's going to get boring in here, talking to myself. I can't even do anything, and I'm going to be constantly monitoring this 'Nero' go about her daily life. What is this reality TV? I don't give a shit about this person's life. Just let me go back to mine!

And what the hell am I supposed to do when she sleeps? Or when she bathes or goes to the bathroom? Can I just tap out and possess someone else? I'll be such a petty, vengeful spirit by the time this is over. Going from one body to the next, unable to actually do anything. So this is what causes ghosts to be so dickish.

I must have died, and this must be like some weird grace period. Where I'm a disembodied spirit, but incapable of interacting with physical objects. Is this some odd form of Limbo? Or perhaps a mistake was made in my reincarnation? Wait … how could I have died? Did I pass away quietly in my sleep? Bullshit. I refuse to go gently into the night. I will rage against the dying of the light!

Just as this thought crosses my mind, I, not the woman named Nero that I inhabit, collapse to the ground. A massive migraine overtakes me and numerous emotions swirl around the toxic cesspool that is my mind.

There's a noticeable difference between my form and the woman's I had inhabited. My hips aren't as wide, my ass is flatter, my muscles larger. I also lack tits. No man boobs for me. It's but a brief relief to realize I'm once again … well me. But the overwhelming wave of pain that washes over me causes me to forget any happiness born from the reclamation of my body.

Not only does my head ache, but everywhere feels like it's on fire. I'm on all fours, and because of this I'm able to notice that my hands have indeed taken their usual appearance. Large, meaty, and relatively hairy appendages, quite unlike those slender feminine ones I had not but a moment ago.

A rising warmth is born on my back, almost as if someone has saddled me like a horse. The heat grows, and blood rushes to my face from exertion. Now it feels like the sun has been beating down upon my bare flesh for days. It doesn't stop. I feel like I'm being lashed by a whip. Smoke reaches my nostrils, and I have an alarming thought. Is my back on fire? It has to be. What else could it be?

I force my way up. This ends up being a mistake. As soon as I'm standing a wave of heat and soot slams down upon me. There's no air. Nothing to breathe, except the toxic fumes born from flame. I'm not the only thing on fire. The very world is on fire.

"How …? How could this happen?"

I'm not the one who says it. It's impossible for me to speak. The smoke has taken my voice. The person who has spoken is a woman. She's in her late twenties, looks almost around my age actually. I recognize her. How could I not? Even with a soot soiled face, even with torn clothes and scorched hair, she's still Saber.

"How? Why?" She doesn't notice me. Or rather, she can't notice me.

Her gaze sweeps over my location and goes straight through me. Almost as if I weren't there. It causes a shiver to run down my spine. I never was much of a fan of being ignored.

"S-s-saber?" It comes out as a mutter.

She doesn't hear me, instead she keeps talking to herself. "How could I let this happen?"

She's devastated. I can tell that by the broken tone of her voice. There's lack of confidence in her words. The tears streaking down her face, becoming dirty by the soot on her, are also a dead giveaway. I try to speak once again, just to get her attention. I need to figure out why we're trapped in this hell on earth. I don't know where we are, or what is happening, and I want to desperately plead with her to make sense out of this situation.

I can't say a thing. That single utterance of her name has drained me. It had allowed the smoke to enter my throat, scorching my esophagus. My lungs burn, not just from the lack of oxygen but from the inhalation of smoke as well. I cough a hopeless attempt at ridding myself of this ailment.

I need to get out of here. I'm going to die if I don't. But I can't leave Saber. I take a step towards her, finding comfort in the sound my boots make as they crunch down on the embers of the flames. It helps to be happy over the little things. My hand reaches out to her. She doesn't stir. Her expression is forlorn. That beautiful positivity she seemed to emanate from every pore has been lost. Her aesthetic is replaced with emotions more suited for a nihilist.

I cough once more; the smog is starting to smother me. I can tell this by the dizziness I feel. That's the lack of air taking effect.

One more step.

Two more steps.

Three.

Four.

She's so fucking close. Just inches from my reach. I can grab her, and we can run away from this hellfire. My hand wraps around her wrist and I pull her towards me. She looks up, right into my eyes. Emerald orbs lock onto those made of crystallized honey. I can see my own reflection in her pupils. It gives me hope. The man in her eyes is a savior. A hero. Someone worthy of being remembered.

"P-praetor?" She sees me and I see her.

We need to get out of here. Now. I try to tell this mentally. It doesn't work. The mental link between us was not all that different from radio communication. Using that analogy, the 'frequency' we shared was filled with nothing but static.

She opens her mouth wide. Much wider than I would have thought possible for any creature besides a snake or some other various reptilian. I don't know what I expect. Perhaps a reference to the library scene in Ghostbusters a la me. Perhaps some random sexual innuendo a la Kiara. What I should have expected was the most obvious of things. A screamer. How cliché.

It cause me to release her, my hands instead rushing to cover my ears. Not a moment too soon, as Saber spontaneously combusts on the spot. She becomes one with the blaze surrounding us. I look on in horror as the girl I've known for barely a day writhes in agony. This was the death of Joan of Arc. The preferred execution method during the Inquisition. The demise of Frankenstein's monster. What a way to go.

I take off my jacket, the cheap hoodie already singed. My mind never attempts to look at this logically. I don't even realize I'm no longer aflame. That during these past few moments I've been perfectly fine. That the only reason I was coughing was because I saw the smoke and rationalized that I should be coughing. I'm not thinking clearly. How could I? I'm horrified by what's happening. My partner's dying in front of me. Logic flew out the window a long time ago.

I rush to Saber, wrapping her in my hoodie. If I can cover her tightly enough maybe I can suffocate the flames …. I can save her. I will save her. For a brief splendid moment it seems to be working. And then the flames burn straight through the jacket, consuming it.

They stretch across the jacket's fabric and kiss my skin. It sizzles upon contact. The smell of burnt hair and flesh wafts up to my nose. The flames continue on their path of destruction, climbing from my hands all the way up to my shoulders. I don't even have time to frantically swat at them. This is an unnatural flame. It coils and wreaths around you as if it were alive.

I feel as if I've been attacked with napalm. I can't put this fire out. Somehow I know that without even trying to. No matter how hard I try, it'll just keep spreading. These flames are an unrelenting force of hatred incarnate. I'm going to die. I was destined to die the moment I was brought here.

I watch as the burnt husk that was Saber collapses into a pile of ash. I can't help but think that'll be me soon. My flesh bubbles from the heat. My bones crack underneath the pressure. My knees give out, and I fall upon them, kneeling as if I were about to pray. If I could speak I would say something along the lines of "This is an accurate portrayal of how I felt watching Fifty Shades of Grey." But I can't speak. My tongue has already shriveled up.

I look out upon the scorched earth in front of me. It's beautiful in a way, despite how terrifying it is. Those flames promise warmth and light, just as they promise destruction and pain.

I decide I want to ingrain this image of the inferno in my memories forever. Even if those memories might only last for a few more milliseconds. If I am to die here I shall gaze defiantly upon this cruel disaster until the heat melts my corneas into puddles of goo. I don't watch for long. The flames consume me as quickly as they consumed my jacket. I burn like logs in a fireplace.

No longer human.

No longer alive.

Just firewood.

Fuel for the fire.

* * *

I wake up in a very, very strange position. The kind of position that makes me think I was just haphazardly tossed on my bed. Like a crumpled up piece of paper tossed aside.

I have a vague recollection of the night's events. We encountered what I presume to be the Berserker of this war. Or at least a particularly strong familiar created by a quite skilled Magus. Saber attacked it. I shot it. It kind of just shrugged everything off. Then it went 'Hulk smash' on us. Saber attacked it some more. And then I shot it with an RPG. That was a little harder for it to brush aside. After that Saber grabbed me and we retreated.

Saber...The nightmare I had flashes before my eyes. What was that all about? Was it a premonition of the future? Some sort of Final Destination shit telling me how to die? Or was it a recollection of the past? I don't know. I doubt Saber knows either. I'm just going to push it aside for now and focus on the present.

I must have drifted off during the trip, and now I'm back at home. That would explain the uncomfortable bed I'm in. I never got around to buying a new mattress. I do a quick scan of the room, and I'm pleased to see the Pico survived. It's on the lampstand right next to my side of the bed, fully formed and all.

"Ah, Praetor. It seems you are awake." The voice causes me to jump a little. And not because the last time I heard it was when its owner reenacted the Wicker Man in front of me. No, that's definitely not why I jumped. She just surprised me. I hadn't seen her, that's all. This room's dark! Someone needs to turn on the goddamn lights!

"Y-yeah. Guess I am." I rub the sleep from my eyes, a desperate attempt at regaining my focus. My mind's still slowly chugging to life, like a computer rebooting after years of disuse. "How long I been out?" I mumble this, a jumbled slur of words, nearly incomprehensible to even my own ears.

Somehow Saber understands my question. Ah, the Grail should translate automatically for her all the languages of the world. Even the most difficult of them all. Gibberish. Or … maybe she just has sharp hearing.

"Mmm … about forty-eight hours."

Excuse me?!

I start nervously chuckling. "Sorry, I thought I heard you say '48 hours'." I'm fully awake now. Any desire to return to dreamland has completely fled me.

Saber blinks, seemingly dumbfounded by my question. "I did?" She doesn't say this like she's questioning my words. No, she says it like she's confused as to why I'm questioning her words.

I bolt out of bed, pushing past Saber, who had pulled up a chair to sit beside me. And … she easily pushes me back down, knocking me back into bed without much effort. It quite embarrassing. She actually knocks a little wind out of me doing it. Damn, woman! You scary!

"Praetor, it would be wise of you to stay in bed. Continue to rest."

Her words give no room for an argument, but of course I'm not the type to concede so easily. "I've been sleeping for two days. That's more than enough."

She fixes a sharp glare my way. "I disagree, Praetor. You seem to be suffering the consequences of overexerting your magical circuits. Recuperating from this will take far longer than two days."

What is she implying? That I'm so weak my battery's dry after some 'minor' crafting? Ok, maybe she's kind of right. I probably cut my life short by a good couple years pulling that stunt I did. But now's not the time to hold back. I have to twist this so we can keep fighting. The war won't wait for me to get better.

I have to sell this good, or else I'm going to be on bedrest for the rest of the week. This city could be destroyed by then. I can't get booze and cigarettes when all the convenience stores are gone!

"Preposterous." Boy does that word sound pretentious. She raises an eyebrow. Her mouth opens as she begins to protest.

I refuse to let her.

"Saber we've known each other less than a day." Well, technically more than a day. But I'm not counting all the time I was asleep. Even if I was in a dream involving you. That's far too intimate to share with her. She'll think I'm some kinda perv if I tell her I had a dream about her. I'm not getting the generic anime slap that comes with such a revelation.

"Frankly it's insulting for you to underestimate me so much." Translation: "you judged my power levels completely accurately, and my own inadequateness is causing me to project my feelings of insecurity upon you."

This should work. I just need to avoid unconsciously rambling aloud to myself. If I can do that I'm all good. I've layered this thing with two lies. (Lieception, if you will.) The lie that she underestimated me, and the lie that I've taken offense to it. And both are the sort of lies that she'd like to believe. I'm showing a false sense of pride, and if I can preemptively judge anything about Saber it's that she's quite full of pride herself.

Her reaction confirms that I'm correct. It's an interesting one. Her face turns a slight shade of pink. The eyebrows that were previously raised in annoyance now rise in shock. She starts sputtering out a flurry of words before I can even begin to understand what she's saying.

"Iwasnotimplyinganythingofthesort!" Try saying that ten times fast. Her hands go to her hips and in one of the haughtiest poses imaginable, she continues. "In fact you were quite impressive for a mere mage. The way you fearlessly charged into danger, despite being reckless, was still quite remarkable."

I'm being insulted and praised all in the same sentence. How odd.

"Uh, thanks?"

She raises her chin into the air, I guess in an attempt at towering over me. Of course she's an Oompa Loompa so that's not quite effective. Now her eyes are closed, almost like she's remembering something.

"I did not expect you to be the sort that'd willingly enter combat. From how you handled the child I was under the impression you were a sneaky coward." Did this woman not recall I openly admitted to making some dude explode? Or did she not believe that? Maybe she was actively repressing the memory?

She opens her eyes and makes a 'humph' sound at me. "Then again, you did cause us to flee so soon." A grim frown finds its way on her face, a stark contrast to the befuddled expression she had.

The implication that I'm a coward doesn't really faze me. Yellow bellied wimps were the types who survived. Glory hounds that fought for honor were the morons that lost their heads. Trust me; I fully intend to keep my noggin.

"You still don't understand, do you?"

For a moment those eyes filled with mock disappointment shift, and I get a good look at her puzzled state. "Oh? What is it I do not understand?"

I sigh at the girl. "We would have lost had we stayed."

This assertion seems to strike her very soul. I watch as she visibly wilts, like a rose long past its prime. Maybe I assumed too much. It seems she did realize how close we came to death.

"Praetor …." Tears form in the corners of her eyes, and for a brief second I pray to Pesci that I won't have to deal with a sobbing woman.

He answers my prayers.

Joe Pesci doesn't fuck around.

She closes her eyes, seemingly recomposing herself, and then they open. The perplexed look in them is long gone. Replaced with two emerald orbs, blazing flames of fury kindling in her pupils.

"You asked me not to underestimate you. I would ask you to do the same." The entire room becomes deathly quiet. If there were crickets you'd hear them chirping. Fortunately there aren't any. I'd have to call an exterminator if there were.

Then, that silence is broken. By laughter. My laughter. "Bwahahaha!" Oh, man. It kind of hurts my chest. Those ribs must still be sore.

Her tears reappear once again, ever so briefly, and then she blinks them away. Her eyes narrow dangerously, to the point where she looks more like a cat then a human. "What about that is funny?"

Everything. Everything about that is funny.

"Do you even hear yourself?" Those eyes continue to narrow, she's practically squinting at me now. Cool it Clint, you're going to strain your eyes.

"I do. It seems quite fair to expect you to treat me the same way you desire I treat you. Does it not?" Venom laces her words; I am so going to enjoy putting her in her place in a minute. "Or would you rather be treated as an inferior? I have been polite and respectful towards you, yet you continue to take me as a joke."

Oh, is she actually getting pissed? Her voice is elevating in pitch, to the point where she sounds like she inhaled helium. I'm in a verbal argument with a chipmunk for Pete's sake.

"You have to be joking." My words do nothing to ease her mind.

She glares at me, a hateful look that would make any man question their life choices.

She opens her mouth, preparing to once again rant at my transgressions.

And, for what seems like the umpteenth time, I interrupt her.

"Underestimate you? You? The girl that charges at monsters without a moment of hesitation?"

She freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights, completely flabbergasted. "Wha–?"

"Do you think I'm blind?! I wish I had a camera (and spare time)! You were amazing!" A choking sound escapes her open mouth.

I continue speaking, ignoring the stunned look of my companion. "No, I'm not underestimating you. I have no doubts you could have taken out any normal Servant without much of a problem." With one hand I close her jaw. With the other I lightly bop her on the nose.

The wild confused look in her eyes only increases in its intensity. Hey, but at least the threat of tears spilling over is gone.

"But keep in mind we didn't just fight any normal ole Servant. Hell, I'm still not sure if that was a Servant. It could have been some odd demon that wandered into the wrong city." My shoulders rise in a shrug. "Really you're underestimating the enemy."

She stiffens at the suggestion, her shoulders tensing as if struck. "Praetor, I believe you give that creature too much credit. It was just a mindless beast, incapable of–!"

"Shhh." I press a finger to her lips. "It swallowed a grenade so densely loaded with prana that I could have breached the Federal Reserve's vault with it." Ok that's a hyperbole, but at least it sounded cool.

She relaxes at my touch, calming down considerably.

"I essentially cooked it from the inside out, turning its internal organs into ground pulp, and it still had enough life in it to scream. I'm even doubting whether or not it's dead, to be honest."

Her brow furrows at this, the small smile previously on her face turns into a slight frown. "Praetor, I do not fully comprehend what you did, but whatever that weapon you used was, it was certainly devastating. There is no conceivable possibility it survived."

I sigh. "It's nice to hear you have some faith in me, but it's not like I hit it with a Noble Phantasm or anything. Even a normal Servant would survive what I did. So this one certainly should." Well, a normal Servant would have survived a different way. Mainly, just dodging the shot, instead of letting it hit them.

I get out of bed, ignoring the distress visible on her face. She moves to push me back, but I forcibly move her out of the way. Standing in front of her, I look down upon her like some mighty king gazing at their subject from the throne. It's somewhat ironic considering Saber's already confirmed she's an emperor. Though I still question how that's possible.

"Saber. You are the one that is overestimating yourself."

Her eyes go wide yet again. She clenches her fists. "Praetor …." Her voice is low, but the emotion it contains conveys a simple message. Once again I am walking a thin line. Except now it's not a simple misunderstanding. I'm doing this intentionally.

"No, Saber. You were extraordinary." I doubt my words are reassuring. It's more likely this is coming across as false praise. That's a shame. I'm actually being honest right now. "But what we fought was more than just a simple familiar."

I sigh, a deep tired sound. "Even if it wasn't a Servant, It certainly wasn't a pushover." Like I said, I'd lied to her. My mana reserves were practically dry after that battle. But I spun it in a way where she couldn't protest. It wasn't in her nature to. She knew deep down that I was lying about not overexerting myself. She was after all leeching off of those mana reserves I practically used up. But I'd sufficiently silenced her opinion on the matter. I was twisting the argument into the perceived notion that she was insulting me. So she forced herself to believe the lie just to avoid having to confront it.

It was dirty, but I didn't need her to worry about me like some child that needed to be coddled. It wasn't my first rodeo. I have to be careful though. I'm apparently quite terrible at keeping things to myself. I can't as much as think about the lie, or else she'll actively be forced to uncover it.

She tuts at me. The look in her eyes shifting from indignant to understanding. "We shall fare better in the next battle."

I chuckle and pat her twice on the back. "That's the spirit."

With our talk done, I head to the door, exiting the bedroom, and going into the bathroom. For some reason Saber follows. I abruptly stop, and she runs straight into my back. With an expression that probably looks very unamused, I glance over my shoulder at my partner.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She answers unflinchingly. "To the bathroom."

A deep scowl forms on my face. "Didn't know Heroic Spirits need to use the restroom."

She matches my expression. "They do not."

We stand there in silence. Looking at each other like idiots. Then, I suck in a deep breath.

"Then what the hell are you doing following me?!"

Her eyebrows rise. "Praetor, I did not take you for being shy." 'Shy'? Me?! You have to be kidding me!

I sigh once more, and somewhere along the line my palm finds a comfortable position covering my face. It hides the incredulous look I likely am displaying. "At least lie and say something like 'I need to be at your side constantly to protect you'." I say this in a fake high pitched voice, my best attempt at mocking her.

She softly chuckles. Her hands go to her hips. "You have a point Praetor. Very well if you insist, I shall constantly be at your side!" She starts fawning all over herself. "We shall recreate the story of Hermaphroditus and Salmacis! Or bond shall be so great we shall be as one!" Isn't that the origin story for the term 'hermaphrodite'? What the hell does that have to do with anything?!

I seriously want to slap that smug grin off her face. She declares this all like it's some kind of divine command. Shoving her index finger right in my face. "Now let us bath together in celebration!"

I slam the door in her face. "Get the fuck outta here." I drawl, "You're nuts, if you think that's a good idea."

She suddenly appears right in front of me. Ah, I thought I felt a slight decrease in the amount of prana she was using. Almost forgot about spirit form, on account of Saber never seeing fit to use it. Seems appropriate she'd think this would be a good use for it. It's the benefit of being dead. You can be Danny Phantom when you want to be, and do things that couldn't be done in a TV-Y7 cartoon. Like peep on people that want nothing but privacy.

"Ah, it seems I was right. If it is your first time, I would be more than happy to–" I drop my pants, underwear and all. Then as she stares at me in wonder, I take off my shirt, throw it atop her head, turn around butt naked, and strut to the shower. For some reason I don't have shoes or socks on. Guess she took them off for me. Good. It saves me from having to bend down.

I hop in the shower right before Saber (who is now nude for some reason) attempts to forcibly insert herself through the door.

"Get in line." I dryly remark upon sliding the glass door close in her face. She can still see me through the frosted glass. I can see her as well. I'm not exactly complaining, but I hardly know this girl. I don't know what she's up to, but I want no part of it. And if this goes any further it would probably be considered necrophilia. With her being technically dead and all. There are some laws I won't break.

She goes into spirit form once again, but I'm already done before she can even enter. I also turned the water to cold. So, instead of creeping me out, she gets ice water on her.

"Praetor! Why?!"

I merely shrug, bending down to pick up my clothes as I leave. "I'll get you a towel. Can't have you dripping water everywhere." I say this while doing exactly that. Droplets of water landing on the linoleum tile of the bathroom's floor.

"How do I turn it to hot?! Emperors do not showers, they bathe!" Let me play the world's smallest violin for ya.

"Bathtub's down the hall and on the right." With this I take me leave of her. I get dressed as I walk back to the bed, not even bothering to dry myself off. Instead of going back to sleep, I make my way to the lampstand. The Pico still fits snugly in my hand. Good to see it's back in shape. I pocket it while exiting the bedroom. And then I remember I'm wearing clothes that are three days old. So, of course I have to go change.

With that done (and the Pico placed safely in my new pants pocket) I actually make my way downstairs. Why does this place seem so big? You know, it's kinda an assholish thing to complain about, but I can't help but feel the house is too large. Larger than it was before. Strange. Waaaiiittt ….

Holy hell where's all the shit I had laying around?!

Everything's clean. Not even a speck of dust.

And everything's new too.

New furniture.

New carpets.

New wallpaper.

Oh, and there's rose petals scattered all around the goddamn place.

"What. The. Fuck."

This isn't my house. My house doesn't have a giant spiral staircase with a gold plated handrail. It doesn't have marble columns holding up the ceiling. It most certainly does not have a life-size portrait of Saber displayed on the wall! Wait ...why are the eyes sparkling? Are those diamonds in her pupils? How much did that cost, huh?! Where did she get the money to pay for that, huh?! But more importantly …. Where the hell am I?!

"SABER?!"

* * *

 **AN: Remember how I said each chapter's title would be based on a song from the 60s, 70s, or 80s? Well, better get your pitchforks and torches because I changed my mind. Come on, you guys have to agree that this song fit the chapter way better than anything else could have. Ex Deo certainly does have a way with words. Even if I don't necessarily agree with their message. Next chapter will be the Money for Nothing one. As I said in the disclaimer this chapter has been split into two parts. Which means it ends on an awful cliffhanger. My sincere apologies for that, but this just seemed like a perfect spot to end it. On the bright side this means the next chapter only needs about a thousand words before it's finished, so it should come out rather soon. Emphasis on 'should'.**

 **Now, on to the part where I reply to you guys' reviews. I figured I'd get a lot of questions and concerns over last chapter. What I did was somewhat controversial. Making it so Dante could harm the Jabberwocky? Preposterous. Well, I have a few ideas to explain my ridiculous Metal Gear esque stunt. (Was it that Transparent that I had blitzed through Phantom Pain prior to writing this?) My main one focuses on Dante screwing up, but somehow suceeding through blind luck alone. Yes, I know that's a very big coincidence, but I'm hoping I'll be able to pull it off.**

 **My basic thought process goes like this: 'Dante focuses on alteration and transmutation. The internal components of the RPG rely on copper. Copper, when chemically altered, can become malachite. Malachite is the element used to create the Vorpal Blade by Rani.' There's a lot of factors at play here. The main one being the realistic nature of this (I know, this is a story where a man summons a female Nero and performs a rocket jump to take out the first boss). Would trace portions of malachite be enough to harm the Jabberwocky sufficiently to stop him, at least temporarily. Would an RPG even function properly if the components were altered ever so slightly? Does transmutation and alteration even work this way? Is this too much of a stretch? Well, I leave those questions to you my wonderful audience! Because to be frank, I have no goddamn clue. I researched this topic for ages and still am left at a dead end. I'm sure there's someone out there that's way more knowledgeable about all of this than I, hopefully they'll call me out an my ridiculous stunts. Otherwise, long live the Hideo Kojima in all of us!**

 **As a secondary explanation *cough excuse cough* a suggestion was given that involved the Jabberwocky's prana saturating the material Dante altered. A la Hercules in Unlimited Blade Works harming Saber with the rocks he kicked up merely because his prana contaminated them. It'd be basically Dante fighting fire with fire. Let me know which of these ideas you like better. Maybe you guys would even prefer a combination of the two? Or perhaps you have an idea I didn't even consider that's makes more sense.**

 **While this AN has gone on far too long I feel I should answer your reviews directly as well. I like doing this when I can because it makes me feel like I'm building some weird little community surrounding my borderline crack fics. And also because I don't want to leave you guys hanging if I can help it. Feel free to PM me if I don't answer your questions sufficiently here.**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: I assure you the goal of this story is not to make your brain cells die. If this occurs you clearly didn't read the possible side effects before reading. Or perhaps I simply forgot to mention them! :P. Thank you for the review. If I'm doing my job correctly there's going to be many more times to come where you want Dante to suffer. And do not fret, for he will suffer in the future. Mwahahaha.**

 **Guest 1: I added the number just to be safe. You could after all be two guests and not simply one. I like you. I like your idea. Therefore you might be seeing it in the future. After all, we may or may not be seeing Rani eventually.**

 **Guest 2: Hopefully I sort of answered that question this chapter. A normal Servant would be able to easily dodge it. In that case Dante would use the anti-personnel type of warhead. It's effectiveness would depend mainly on whether or not Dante caught them off guard. Easier said than done considering he's going to be fighting demi-gods and whatnot.**

 **King0fP0wers: Last but not least. Thank you immensely for following all of my work! It's awesome to see that I actually have managed to entertain someone with both of my stories (despite how different their universes are). As a heads up, I will be answering your Transparent review in the AN of that story's newest chapter (which I haven't started yet). I'm hoping I sort of replied to most of your review in the rest of this AN, but I will directly answer the question as to whether or not Dante's attack was magical in nature. I should have described less of the mechanical work being done and more of the magical skill taking place. Essentially Dante did the same to the RPG warhead as he did to his rifle's grenade. In layman's terms he pulled a Tohsaka, loading the thing like she loads her jewels. Safe to say Rin's going to be pissed to see Dante using magic similar in theory to her family's in order to improve mundane weaponry! XD**

 **On to the next chapter! I pray that I'll be able to shorten the AN down considerably next time. It is rather distracting to see this massive blob of bold text. Till then, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!**

 **PS: Completely forgot to mention the most important thing. Thanks so much King Keith for betaing this chapter for me! Remember to check out his work too, guys!**


	6. Money for Nothing

**Disclaimer: Two characters are going to be introduced this chapter that I'd originally planned to include in GEGE (yet never got the time to do it). One's identity is going to be blatantly obvious, the other one not so much. I'll leave it to you guys to guess who he is. There's also a brief timeskip involved in between the scene changes. Fingers crossed that it comes across as a natural shift.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6- Money for Nothing**

I stomp right back up the stairs. Funny, I hadn't even realized there were **three** sets of them. "You're tearing me apart, Saber!" Unfortunately everything's different now. The entire house is different. I don't know where the hell I am. I'm a fish out of water. My Batcave is gone. In its place is this ridiculously oversized mansion. Yes, mansion. I can't call it anything else besides that.

There are fucking columns. Columns. I walked by them without even realizing they were there. There's one of those goddamn busts of Saber's face too. It's placed on a marble pedestal, just like all the rest of them. Of course I knock it over. The sound it makes when it hits the ground at least alleviates my nerves ever so slightly.

"Saber!"

Since this place is gigantic there's way too many rooms. So I have to go through every single one of them to find her. Every. Single. One. The third floor has eighteen alone. Eighteen. Oh, and there's an attic. I didn't even bother going up there. It's probably just as big as the rest of this place.

"How did she afford this?" Oh. Oh no. She didn't. She couldn't. I fumble around in my pockets. The Pico's there, as well as a cigarette lighter, but not my wallet, nor my phone.

"Wait! I changed clothes!" I rush back to the bedroom I was in. Ok, wait. Hold up. If everything else is new why is my mattress the same? Did she keep the old one just to spite me?! I make it to the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. I hadn't put them away to be washed, instead simply tossing them into a corner of the room.

"Not here." A quick search reveals nothing, save for some lint. "Don't tell me she…." This trail of thought isn't healthy. She couldn't have. She wouldn't. No way. What kind of monster would do this to a man?!

Four more doors slam open. A fifth is kicked open. Finally, behind the sixth I find her. This economic leech. This drain on my resources. This godforsaken woman.

"Oh, Praetor? Did you change your mind on bathing together?" She's naked and bathing in the tub. But it's not the tub I had in my house. No. It's this massive ridiculously lavish tub, completely with gold plated faucets and diamond encrusted valves.

"Y-y-y-youuuuuu!" I'm a sputtering mess. If it were possible, steam would be blowing out from my ears.

Saber innocently points a soapy finger at herself. "Me?" That's it. I can't take this. My head feels like it's about to explode. I'm a live grenade right now.

"You spent my money?!" Spittle flies out of my maw. The warm feeling in my ears tells me that blood is rushing to my head, likely due to the rage I'm in.

Saber smiles. She smiles. Not the smile of a thief pleased with their success, but the smile of a little girl that got what she wanted for Christmas.

"Oh? That I did Praetor." She doesn't even deny my accusations. How can one be so bold as to openly admit such a thing? "Do not worry. I contacted your personal treasurer to confirm you had the proper assets available." 'Personal treasurer'? Does she mean the manager at the local bank? That shit! He let her get away with this?!

"I'll pay him a visit later." Those words seal the man's fate. It isn't going to be pleasant for him. The thought causes me to relax ever so slightly. Imagining turning that fool into a personal punching bag relieves some of the stress I'm currently having to handle.

"How … much?" I hesitate to ask this question.

"Six hundred million yen." Six. Hundred. Million. Million. **Million?!**

"Praetor, you should close your mouth. It is unbecoming of you."

An odd, guttural death rattle leaves my open jaw. The same sound the creature made last night after I hit it with the RPG. At this point in time I desperately wish I could switch places with it. This is a bombshell even worse.

"M-m-m-i-i-i-l– ?" I can't even get the word out.

"Million? Ah yes, like I said. Six hundred million yen." Don't boast about it?! I make my way out of the room. Simply moonwalking out of her sight. I'm so stunned I've forgotten how to turn around.

Ten seconds later and I'm trying my best at drowning in the toilet. There are five in this fucking place so I have the privilege to choose my preferred suicide method. Seriously. Who installs five toilets when there are only two people in the house?! Five! And Saber doesn't even need to shit! Why do I need five goddamn toilets!

I'm interrupted from my poor man's seppuku by a tap on the shoulder. Dear Pesci, give me strength. Another tap. I know who it is. There's no one else in the household. Just one more minute. There's no longer anymore bubbles. One more min–.

I'm pulled away before I can feel the loving embrace of death. "Praetor!" In my dazed state I can only find one way to respond.

"Million?" A slap. Now I'm seeing stars. The black dots in my gaze disperse, replaced by the concerned face of my 'Heroic' Spirit. "Million." I'm muttering the word repeatedly. My brain is stuck on loop. has stopped working properly.

"Is money that much of a concern?" She beams at me, a motherly smile that's meant to comfort my aching heart. "In that case, I believe you should reconsider your disapproval of bathing together. It saves water after all."

I'm going to choke her. It's impossible. But I'm going to do it. Before I can do so, water rushes from my lungs and I break into a coughing fit. Saber helps me up, swiftly patting me on the back to clear my airways.

"Praetor, I do not think impersonating a canine is a good idea. Perhaps you should avoid doing that in the future?"

"I wasn't drinking from it you goddamn–." Another bout of coughing. Another pat on the back from Saber. "Fuck." Well, that certainly sums up this entire situation quite well. At least in my opinion.

"I was a bit surprised to be honest, learning that someone like you had such a large reserve of funds. Why, you are like a prince living among the paupers!" She gives a chortle after saying this. Almost as if all of this is one big joke. As if making me bankrupt is one damn comedy show. So. This is how it feels to deal with me? Jeez. I owe Kiara an apology.

I can't help it. It's the final straw. I snap. My hands wrap around her slender neck, and I wring the life from her. Well, that's what I wish happened. Instead she barely feels my killing intent.

"Oh, Praetor? Is tickling a display of affection in this era?" I go so far as reinforcing my grip, but of course it's futile. Servants don't technically need to breath. I'd have better luck choking myself to death.

"Only in Chris Brown's mind." I stop, letting go of her as my rage dissipates. "Phone." Normally, I'd assume Saber would ignore me. My command would go completely over her head. However, for some reason she actually listens. Maybe it's my tone. Or maybe it's the serious look on my face. But for whatever reason she does as I ask. I'm not at all surprised to see she stole my phone as well. It's probably how she called the banker. Knew I should have called him something besides "Mr. Moneybags" in my contacts' list.

"Here you go Praetor." She hands it to me, and the large smile on her face makes me ponder the idea of her being some secret sadist. Surely this world isn't cruel enough to create someone so unconceivably ditzy that they'd smile, without a shred of guilt, upon the person they'd robbed blind. She's either a complete moron or unimaginably apathetic towards the idea of deferred consumption. Or both. I'm guessing both.

With a few pushes of the button I've gotten ahold of the banker who allowed this to happen. "Ah, Dante, it's been a while. How have you been do–?"

"Shut the fuck up, you filthy son of a whore." Even Saber gasps in shock as I say this. I can hear the bank manager make a sound quite similar to a bleating sheep. "I've been out for two days and the first thing I learn waking up is that you've allowed my assets to completely dwindle up."

Silence. And then the dog tries to defend himself. "She was very convincing." I glance to the girl he's talking about. Yes, I'll admit she has a certain air of charisma to her, even though she doesn't have the skill. Her personality demands to be the center of attention, and it's that kind of magnetism that makes her perfect at getting what she wants, when she wants it.

"There are many things more convincing." I don't even need to elaborate. He knows what I'm talking about.

"Dante, please. Let us be civil here. I can fix–."

"Do you know what the term 'drawn and quartered' means?" I look straight into Saber's eyes while saying this. I have to make this point. She's just caused me a ton of trouble. She needs to understand.

"Praetor, do not punish the man for–."

"Is that one of your American sayings?" The banker attempts to interject some humor into the conversation. Not the time for it.

"Look it up." I hang up. And immediately I make another call, ignoring the question in Saber's eyes.

"D-d-ante? Is that you?"

"You know that Western bank downtown?"

Silence. He's pondering my question.

"The Bateman?" His words crawl out of his throat, as if he's unwilling to say them.

I clear my throat. "Yeah. I had most of my money there. The bank manager allowed it to be spent without my say involved."

"Ah." From his tone I can tell he's somewhat disappointed. Guess he thought I was merely checking up on him. That's wishful thinking right there.

Saber's squirming in place.

"You know what I'm getting at."

The man coughs into the speaker. "Consider it done." A sigh of exasperation comes from his end of the line. "That's what you call about? Jesus Christ Dante it's been three–."

I interrupt his venting. "I'm also going to immediately need to come out of retirement. Restart the Underground section of the Junkyard. Tell the boys they've got a job again."

A merry round of laughter comes from the background. Apparently he's not alone. "Looks like you got to tell them yourself." Hearing the smugness in his voice, I hang up without so much as a goodbye.

"Praetor?" She looks somewhat worried, I can't imagine it's for her own sake. Nor would it be for the banker, unless I misjudged her benevolence. That means she's worried about me for some reason. Unusual. Why should she …?

I can feel my hands shaking. Why are they shaking?

"Praetor, are you okay?" What gave it away? The goofy comedy act? Or maybe the abrupt shift into somberness? Or are you really telling me pseudo-Parkinson's is the giveaway? I can't tell her. She just doesn't need to know. At least not yet.

"I just need a drink." My hand goes through my hair. An attempt at pushing the wet strands away from my forehead, while also hiding the shaking. "Just a drink."

She nods, slowly, methodically, as if she's trying to process this. I don't blame her. A million things have happened in only a few days. It's getting hard to keep track. "Praetor, what is it that you do?" What kind of question is that?

"What is it that you do Saber?"

She smiles for some reason. A distant look in her eyes. "I am an artist. My job is merely to bring beauty into this world." Oh, so we got a philosopher here. Regular Socrates on our hands.

"Well my job was a bit simpler than that."

"Was?" I start walking out of the bathroom, forgetting about the puddles of toilet water coating the linoleum floor. Someone's probably going to break their neck.

"I'm retired." I sigh. "Or I was. Now you've gone and made me bankrupt. Can't exactly relax when you're penniless." As if fighting in a war between legendary heroes was anybody's idea of relaxation.

Her smile dips ever so slightly. "The banker insisted you had enough." Well I did, but he wasn't accounting for having any money left over after the fact.

"Let's not talk about this anymore." Please, Saber, just let it go. I'm going to dry heave if you remind me.

"Can you not just take it back? Surely they would understand?" Oh sweet swirly porcelain bowl, welcome me in your embrace. For I so desperately want to be anywhere but here. Unfortunately I'm unable to flush myself down the drain like a dead goldfish. Saber once again pulls me back.

"Is that not possible, Praetor?"

My teeth grind against one another. "Something tells me they have a 'no refunds' policy when it comes to mansions." Her expression becomes forlorn, as if a tiny thundercloud was personally raining on her sunny day.

Of course she had done exactly that to me. Saber is in fact my personal thundercloud. I barely know her and I can already tell she's a curse on my good fortune. But perhaps I'm being too harsh. This war in itself is a bringer of bad luck. Saber's merely a contestant in it all. One who happened to spend every penny I had available.

"In that case I suppose the only course of action is to go back to work." She shrugs, showing how little she cares about disturbing my day to day activities. "In fact it might actually be good for you. Judging from your other home, inactivity has made you lazy and unorganized."

I'm going to kill her. I swear, I'm going to kill her. Grail War or not. I'm going to find some way to pay her back for this. Mark my words.

"I could barely contain the contents of my stomach upon witnessing it. Why, Praetor, I'd say you were a slob. But that would be putting things rather lightly."

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then I breathe.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I won't let her get to me. Think of her like Kiara. She's just trying to rile you up on purpose. Sticks and stones. Sticks and–

"It smelled quite horrid as well. I thought an animal had died and decomposed in your bedroom. In fact, that's precisely why I insist on bathing together." What. "I feel you do not fully comprehend the proper procedure involved in cleanliness. Even now you reek of debauchery. Praetor, you look less like a prince and more like a vagrant. I believe the term of this era is 'hobo'."

I'm going to bash her head in with a stone, and then break her neck with a very large stick.

"Saber? How about we look at this from a different perspective?" She blinks at my sudden tone shift. I actually sound rather calm right now. Which is less impressive than it seems to be. No, I didn't manage to actually calm down. I'm just so angry that I've come full circle. My rage is so great that it's burnt itself out.

"Perspective?"

I walk to the bathroom sink, turn on the faucet, and splash some water on my face. "Yes. Let's think about the other way this is a disaster."

"Other way?" She echoes my words, completely lost in the conversation.

"Not only have you potentially turned me into a pauper. But you've also compromised our position!" She's bought a gigantic mansion in my name. Besides from some of the larger skyscrapers, it's probably the most expensive building in the city. Did she not think this through?!

"You've essentially painted a giant target on our back." I mean we were kind of already screwed. That thing that attacked us was likely tied to a Master. Which means we're already identified as being combatants in this war. I don't know if Kiara tipped them off to set up that ambush, or maybe they'd just waited for any unfortunate schmuck to stumble along after registering at the church.

Either way, at least one other Master knows that I'm in this. Which isn't a good thing. Do you know what's even worse? Saber proclaiming to the other five that I'm in the war!

"I mean, you don't think our enemies will notice such a change? I'm not exactly a ghost in this city, so it's probably going to catch someone's attention." This's putting it lightly. I always stand out in a crowd. But I do so on purpose. Hiding in plain sight, so to speak.

The people of this city expect me to do something eccentric. Like living in a gated concrete bunker in the middle of town. But buying a mansion? That's not my style. I stand out, but not to **that** degree.

"That is fine, Praetor. Let them come. We shall crush them." She brushes aside my concerns. What a lunatic. This girl actually thinks it's a good idea to lead the enemy to us. Maybe that'd be true if we'd set up any sort of ambush, but that's not the case. Hell, I barely even know where we are. This is far from familiar territory for me.

"If we're going to lead them to us we should be doing it in my house." And we should also at least have an inkling of an idea as to who we were up against. I don't want to lead Hercules or Genghis Khan straight to my front door. At least not without having a hundred and one different contingency plans for how to kill them.

"It is somewhat late for that, Praetor. I have already razed that abomination to the ground."

For some reason this makes my pupils grow to the size of saucer plates. Goddamn I'm so shocked my eyes are dilating. "What." Not a question. No, a statement. One of such clear unadulterated confusion.

"I burnt it down. I do not think your neighbors minded. They were cheering in the streets at the sight." Need to make a phone call. Need to exterminate the cockroaches who I thought to be my neighbors.

"Saber." The chilly tone in which I speak her name gives Saber goosebumps. I see the tiny protuberances on her flesh. "You burned my house down?" I'm giving her this last way out. This final question decides the fate of her life. If she answers incorrectly, why she might as well commit suicide.

"Why of course. It smelled awful."

My eyes narrow dangerously. "Why."

She shrugs.

She fucking shrugs.

"It seemed the best course of action. The house was beyond renovation. The only option was to cleanse it using the purifying attributes of fire."

I pick up the can of air freshener that's situated on top of the toilet. My hand dips into my pocket and fishes out my lighter. "So. You set my house on fire." Saber watches me, unsure of how to proceed. "And don't even feel a shred of remorse."

She huffs. "Honestly Praetor, I cannot see why this is such a big deal."

You spent all my money. And burned my house down. "You don't see why it's a big deal." I speak in a mocking tone. "Well, how would you like to go up in flames?"

She opens her mouth to reply. That was a mistake. I start the lighter, and place it right in front of the air freshener's aim. Then I press the button on the can. A scented stream of chemicals ignites in midair upon contact with the flame. I've created a makeshift flamethrower. And where do all those flames go? Right in Saber's face. With a considerably portion going right in her mouth.

A normal person would have probably suffered some mild to severe burns from this. Possibly going blind if they were unfortunate enough to have their eyes open when the blast went off. Saber did have her eyes open. So it's rather fortunate she's not a normal human being.

She doesn't go blind. But she loses her eyebrows, as well as her eyelashes. Oh and her hair catches on fire. I watch with mild amusement as she smacks herself in the head to smother the flames. She's not in pain, nothing as mundane as this would hurt a Servant. But I've at least mildly irritated her. She's done far worse than that to me.

Yes, this is extremely petty of me. It's a pathetic display of defiance, one brought about by the knowledge that I'm unable to protest her slights against me any other way.

She succeeds at putting the fire out. Boy, I wish I had a camera. Gone is the beauty from before. Well, she's still beautiful. But she looks more like some weird alien humanoid. An attractive alien, but an alien nonetheless. She looks like a non-Blue member of the Blue Man Group.

"Praetor." There's tears in the corners of her eyes. Guess she noticed how she looks in the mirror. "Give me the can."

I look down at the can of aerosol. It's on the floor. Must have slipped from my grasp. "No." If she had eyebrows they would have raised at that. She doesn't, so I instead watch her brow line inch upwards ever so slightly.

"Excuse me?"

I frown at her. "You're excused." My foot slowly inches forward. Just a few more centimeters and I'll be able to reach the can ….

She grabs it.

Quick as a whip she leans down and plucks the can away from me. Her hair is already starting to regrow. A small quantity of prana travels from me to her, and she uses it to repair her damaged appearance. I watch as she grasps the air freshener between her hands, vaguely wondering what she's going to do. The lighter's back in my pocket, I refuse to let her lay hands on that.

"Praetor, I do not find your pranks amusing." She stands up straight, fixing a maniacal grin my way. It doesn't at all fit her face. "Consider this your one and only warning." She crushes the can. The pressure built up inside it is released, and pieces of metal are launched around the room. "Get out."

The tension in the room could be cut by a knife. I ignore her attempt at being scary. A yawn escapes me. "M'kay." I walk up to her, ruffle her newly formed hairdo, and quietly walk away. The look on her face is worth every penny she's cost me.

I dial my cell with one hand, the other placed inconspicuously in my pocket. Holding it up against my ear, I listen to it dial the number.

"Hello?" Good she answered.

"Yo. Do me a favor?"

Silence. "Dante?"

I can't help but smile. "Who else? I'm back in business." A rowdy batch of laughter is my only answer.

* * *

Downtown Fuyuki City, Autumn 20XX

Fuyuki's tallest skyscraper is approximately the same height as the Empire State Building. It was built around five years ago, the construction project funded by the lone figure that currently resided in its highest floor. This was his penthouse.

The young man, for he was in his early twenties, looked out the glass windowpanes in front of him. He sat upon a large, velvet chair and gazed upon the city unfolding beneath him. Like a king watching over his subjects. Or Santa Claus keeping a vigilant eye on the world's children.

This man lived a life of affluence. His future was bright, he could not fail.

"Master, the sixth Servant has been summoned."

The young man turned his head to look at the person who'd interrupted his thoughts. "Mmm? Is that so?"

His new guest was a regal looking man, dressed in a fine white suit. He bowed before his Master. He did not kneel like a common servant prostrating themselves before their liege. No, his bow was in a curt style, cut from the same cloth as the old procedures of military etiquette. It was a gesture of solemn acceptance, a polite nod of respect towards the young man he called his Master. It signaled an unfathomable bond of loyalty between them. Comradery of the highest order.

These two men could be mistaken for brothers. They both shared the same blonde locks. Though the bowing man's hair was somewhat curlier, so much so that it could practically be considered wavy. The sitting man's hair was straighter, it was styled almost like a bowl-cut. The hair of someone nearly seventy years out of style. The haircut of the stereotypical nerd, awaiting the moment in which they would be preyed upon by a bully.

This man wasn't prey. He was a predator. A mover and a shaker. If he wished, he could have turned that ridiculous bowl-cut into society's latest trend. In fact, he had done just that albeit indirectly. He was that influential. His legions of adoring fans testified to that. It wasn't at all surprising that blonde wigs and hair dye were both currently out of stock citywide.

"Who is the Master?" The man with a bowl-cut sipped casually from a wineglass, smiling cheerfully at his companion.

"An ex-convict. Julius had already begun establishing a list of the man's feats and flaws."

Another sip from his glass, a slight tapping of his fingers against the arm of his chair. The red tuxedo he wore blended in marvelously with the material, making it look more like a chair with a head and hands, rather than a man seated down.

"His name is Dante di Prinzi."

The glass falls. Landing on its side with a loud crash. It scuffs up the mahogany tile that makes up the floor.

Immediately the man in white rushes to pick up the shards of glass, for he was a dutiful Servant. The seated man places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from continuing his actions.

"Forgive me, sire. I shouldn't have–"

"There, there, Sir Gawain. Do not blame yourself. It is my own fault for being so clumsy."

The kneeling man now identified as Gawain bolted up in shock. "Nonsense, sire, it is not your–" His protest were in vain, for his voice caught in his throat upon noticing the serene, peaceful look on his Master's face. It brokered no room for arguments. For it would be a crime against nature to argue against such a heavenly creature.

"Allow me to clean this mess. Please inform my brother that I want this Master to be left alone. Observe him for now, avoid confronting him if at all possible."

"Master?" His words laced with concern, Gawain questioned his Master's reasoning. And once he realized that he quickly attempted to apologize. A flurry of words and hand gestures, followed by an abrupt bow before he excused himself. "Once again, you are far too kind of a Master for a mere knight like I."

With that last utterance of flattery he left to follow his Master's orders.

Now all alone, the red tuxedoed man pondered this recent revelation. "How unfortunate that such a man would be involved in this." He sighed, his gaze wandering to the broken wineglass. "I suppose I'll have to deal with him eventually. It would be irresponsible to let someone like that run around with free reign."

His gaze lingered upon the shards of glass before he continued staring out the window. Watching the night life of Fuyuki unravel in front of him in the same manner someone would casually enjoy a good movie.

"I should call a servant to clean up this mess. It'd be unfortunate if someone were to step in it." But he found himself unable to do so, his attention was completely focused on the scene before him. That is how he spent his night, looking over the citizens of Fuyuki as a human would observe a colony of ants. Such was the detached existence this man lived. The man who tried so desperately to be human, but was treated as a god.

* * *

"Praetor, why have we returned here?"

I groan at her question. She's been asking me questions like this for the past thirty minutes. It's like dealing with a child. Since my van's trashed, I had to walk here. Of course, Saber had suggested I allow her to carry me. Of course I had told her hell no.

"Please just be quiet Saber. I've got a headache." I'm actually being honest here. The migraine isn't from my annoyance at Saber's antics. No, there's a much simpler reason. The area we've returned to is overwhelming. The abundance of mana in the air threatens to incapacitate me through the sheer quality and quantity of it. This is Ground Zero, and I feel some sort of misplaced empathy towards the first responders that came upon the wreckage in Chernobyl.

If magic registered on a Geiger counter I would have brought one. Had I done this I probably would have a worse headache right now. A constant scratching sound, an indicator that the instrument registered the danger within its proximity, would have drove me insane. It would be like handling the constant chatter of a thousand cicadas. That is something I'm forced to hear as well. Bastard insects must be alarmed at how their habitat has malformed.

I shouldn't be surprised. I had released an overabundance of prana with my attack. But I can't help but feel this isn't a proper representation of just that. We've returned to the scene of the crime. Not more than two nights ago this was our battlefield against that beast. Now it's merely an abandoned wasteland in the middle of an overpopulated urban jungle. There's a massive crater in the ground, courtesy of the RPG. Shrapnel is spread densely throughout. Any curious collector with a metal detector would be overjoyed in finding this place.

Sadly they never will. At least for a while. The boundary field is still in place. I can feel it, despite it being dwarfed in comparison to the charged air itself. Originally this had given Saber and I some pause. There was a tangible threat that creature would still be watching this land. Like some primordial predator keeping a close eye on its territory. This wasn't the case, as we quickly realized something else had come through here after us.

I can safely confirm it wasn't the Assassin of this war. No self-proclaimed killer would be so blatantly obvious. Especially with Presence Concealment, no matter how low the rank may be. There's a foreign presence here. One that belonged not to Saber nor I, nor did it belong to our monstrous combatant the other night.

His/her/it's presence is still plainly obvious. I can map out the thing's movements not just from memory, but from the signature it's left behind in the form of its prana. It feels much the same as it did before. Utterly terrifying. Even now the mere residual energy it's left behind awakens some long thought buried urge to flee. As I mentioned, I also am quite capable of tracing my own actions in the battle. Up until the climax, the blast from that final RPG shot is too chaotic to properly judge.

I have different emotions upon recognizing it. Instead of the fear I feel at the beast's ghostly presence, I feel nothing but exhilaration at identifying the destruction I caused. Saber senses this misplaced pride I've put upon my actions. She incorrectly assumes it to be confidence in her abilities that night.

"Mmm, Praetor? It seems you have recognized my aura from our battle. I suppose I should not be surprised, no Praetor of mine would dare avoid basking in my glory. No matter if that glory was of last night, a week ago, or even a millennia in the past!" She smiles happily at me. I scowl at her idiocy.

We came here to reclaim her catalyst. That broken knife I had stuffed into my pants pocket. I had apparently left it behind in the chaos, for I was unable to find it in my new 'house'. There's of course the chance that Saber stole it from me, just like she stole my wallet. I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt here, mainly because I needed to return here anyway.

There's a possibility that we can identify that creature. That's the thought I had in my head while walking here with Saber. (Well, one of the thoughts I'd had. Though the others all focused on how to punish her thievery. They were quite unproductive, so I'll avoid elaborating.) It had to have left some form of clue. No mindless force of nature such as that would have been cunning enough to sweep up the evidence.

Kiara, presumably, hadn't had time to deal with this. Or maybe she was simply waiting for the boundary field to dissipate. That made some sense. After all, even though she's the Overseer that doesn't necessarily mean she's safe. Any wannabe Master that didn't understand the rules might kill her without batting an eye. Even the more traditional Masters would end her if they discovered I was working with her on some minuscule level. I don't necessarily blame them either. I'd do the same to her if I found out she was helping the others substantially.

"Jealous, are we? Praetor, I thought you said there was nothing between you and the nun?" Damn, must have mumbled that aloud. Either that or Saber's been digging into my thoughts. Nosy woman.

"It's a matter of loyalty, Saber. Nothing more. I don't think there's anything wrong with expecting your associates to avoid stabbing you in the back." I bend down to examine the rubble surrounding us. A green speck of rock grabs my attention.

"Hmm, sadly that is not often a luxury that can be had." I turn my head to glance back at her. She's peering over my shoulder, staring at the mineral in my hands with fascination.

"Aye, just look at what happened to Julius Caesar. Even the best of us can fall to treachery." Probably the wisest thing I've said in my life. But I hold that statement within me, for I believe it with the utmost conviction. Even gods can die if they're caught unaware. Which is why I view the Boy Scouts as the most proficient organization in history. As silly as that sounds, I can't help but view such a group with respect when their motto is 'be prepared'. That's wisdom even the finest of spec ops soldiers should heed.

Then again there's things preparation simply can't adapt for. That's why my second favorite quote is "No battle plan survives contact with the enemy." It's ingrained in my very soul. Every fiber of my being is built to follow that simple observation.

"Praetor, what is that stone you are holding?"

"Malachite." A simple analysis spell tells me this. However, it does not tell me why I've currently found such a thing here. I cannot, for the life of me, recall ever hearing mention of malachite being a common element in Japan, let alone Fuyuki.

"There's traces of my magic imbued in it. How … strange." I notice a few more shards of the stone scattered around the area. Its green hue allows it to easily be identified. At first I had illogically assumed it to be Kryptonite. After all, that is the first thought to come to mind upon hearing the description 'green stone'. But I know this not to be the case. Even without my analysis. Kryptonite, to my knowledge, isn't a real mineral. And if it were it would have some form of radiation to it.

That might have explained the odd aura surrounding this area. 'Might' being the key word here. Radiation would have felt much differently. What I feel is something far less describable. I've felt radiation. This is not radiation. Radiation doesn't make you feel warm and tingly. It doesn't make every hair on your body stand up.

"Was that here before, Praetor?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'before'. It could have been buried in the soil." Maybe the blast brought it to the surface? To be honest, I have no idea. It could be a coincidence. It could be tied to the monster we fought. Or it could be related to whatever's making this place feel so … unusual.

I really have to get out of here. I've already found Saber's dagger in the wrecked husk of my van. I've already destroyed any incriminating evidence that could point someone to me. And I've already searched this place with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing is pointing me any closer to figuring out what our assailant was. This little journey's only brought about more questions.

Why's there malachite here? What's this foreign presence in the air? Why is the bounded field still in place?

Those inquiries swim around my mind, yet I have no way of bringing any of their answers to the light. I can only toss around wild speculation and conjure up a hypothesis to explain this. Nothing concrete or grounded in facts.

"Mmm, Praetor … I can tell you are troubled. Fret not, for the answers will come to us in due time. It would be better to return to our domain, and prepare for the upcoming battles we will surely fight." That's a surprisingly insightful piece of advice from Saber. Looks like the old saying is indeed true. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

"Fair point. We're just going to have to stop off at a friend's place real quick."

She tilts her head to the side, the universal gesture of perplexity. "Oh? I am proud of you, Praetor. Despite your hostility you still have the sense to value friendship." Am I being insulted or complimented? The radiant smile on her lips indicates she's trying her hand at flattery. And yet the words that spill forth from those very lips indicate she's in need of some serious practice.

Her visage shifts, abruptly becoming the pout she seems to favor. "Why is it that you have not even told me their name? As your Emperor I should be privy to the identities of your inner circle." My 'Emperor'? Again she speaks of such things. It's to the point where she doesn't even catch herself. She's let such an important clue slip out for any eavesdropper to hear. Either she's forgotten the importance of secrecy or she just doesn't care.

My mind wanders back to that 'dream'. The young woman walking through the streets. Yes, that was Rome wasn't it? And the fire. Those flames that managed to dance between being horrifying and beautiful. What could that have been? The Great Fire of Rome? Nero wasn't supposed to have been there at the time. Even if he had been, it would go against every historical record to say he died there. If Saber was Nero why was she there? Burning in the inferno with me.

Is she just mentally retarded? Some lunatic that thinks she's an emperor? It wouldn't have been the first time that's been the case. Just thinking of the so-called 'Emperor' Norton brings a smile to my face. Could Saber be some similar oddity? That should be impossible. She's a Heroic Spirit after all. Therefore she needed to have been some relatively influential figure, and not just some bumbling idiot off the streets.

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Emperor of Rome. Also Emperor of Ridiculously Long Names. He was a man. This much was certain. Of course one could argue the history books were incorrect, but then that would make almost everything reported on the subject obsolete. That possibility is something that could unravel quite a lot of my plans. If Nero's legend is wrong then what of Attila the Hun? Or Frederick the Great? Napoleon? Hannibal? The true identity of any historical individual living in an era prior to the invention of the camera could be up to question. Don't even get me started on fictional individuals. If I can't trust the history books to truthfully inform me how can I trust the more romanticized legends like that of King Arthur or El Cid?

If Saber is indeed Nero then I'm going to have to compensate accordingly. I can't trust in what I know about history and mythology to make a call on how to handle the enemy. Even if I know they're names I'm not going to necessarily be able to judge their strengths and weaknesses. I'll just have to take everything with a grain of salt, and trust in my gut for advice. Good thing I'm quite skilled when it comes to winging it.

Now, there's only one other problem here. Let's say Saber is Nero. That would explain why she avoided identifying herself. Well, the fact that I tackled the Matou in front of her might have been partially responsible for her lack of trust in me. But, if she's Nero than I would imagine she'd feel uncomfortable sharing that piece of information with someone she just met. Just imagine if she had been summoned by a devout Evangelical! Sharing her name would have resulted in her prompt suicide a la Command Spells.

I suppose that's a plus. It means she's at least able of understanding that her history has a negative connotation to it. Now hopefully she sort of understands why that's the case. The last thing I need is a tyrant on my hands. I'm not in the mood for having to stage a coup d'état against my partner in this war.

"Praetor?" Her tone's curious, and I take that as a very good sign. Had she been concerned, or perhaps even nervous (if Saber could even feel such an emotion) it would have told me I'd rambled aloud once more. Her curiosity means she isn't privy to my unease.

A part of me desires to continue this pondering. To continue my inner monologue reflecting on Saber's existence, but I know I cannot do this. Time spent reflecting does little good. It would only make Saber suspicious of my intentions. I'm going to drop this mental tangent. At least if she's the real Nero I'll have an excuse as to why she was compelled to raze my home to the ground and replace it with a ridiculously opulent mansion.

Rulers were apt to commit such illogically acts. Even more so when they completely distanced themselves from the common folk. And if ever there were to be a prize given to the ruler most disillusioned with the plight of the commoner, it would most definitely go to Nero. Or perhaps Caligula, her uncle. Come to think of it, the Romans had a shit ton of tyrants in their history. At least I didn't get Commodus. I'd Russell Crowe that bastard.

Look at me, I'd conceded that I should cease the pointless pondering, and yet I still continued doing so. Saber's curiosity is shaping into worry. I can feel her presence seep into my subconscious, likely her attempt at assuring me she's still there. Or she's just being nosy. Maybe both.

I sigh, finally clearing my cluttered thoughts from my mind. "My apologies, I was lost in thought."

Saber just smiles. Easily accepting the excuse I've provided. "It is a reoccurring tendency of yours, Praetor. Your mind often seems to be filled to the brim with worry." That easygoing smile shifts into a lecherous grin. Oh Pesci, I'm getting flashbacks of Kiara. Has that woman abused me so thoroughly that I've gained PTSD?

"Or … perhaps your thoughts are far less dark. Could it be that the mention of your 'friend' brings back pleasant memories?" She pouts. Which disgusts me slightly. There is no reason another person should t pout while following the line of thought Saber is going along.

"First that nun, and now there is another harlot vying for your hand?" Ok, I got one question. How does she know my 'friend' is a woman? What if they're a fat grease ball with an obnoxious Jersey accent? Would James Gandolfini fit the description of 'harlot'?

That is of course a what-if situation. Saber is correct, my friend is a woman. That's even more terrifying. How the hell did she know? Does she have some odd sixth sense? Perhaps this is a common trait shared among all women? An inner Sherlock Holmes that picks up on the smallest of clues in order to create a grand conspiracy of adultery.

Or … maybe she's just paranoid.

"You should run these sort of things by me first, Praetor. As your Emperor, I should be able to properly vet those who desire to join your harem." Disgusting. Simply deplorable.

"It seems I must also work at strengthening your bond of loyalty to me. I cannot allow another to take my place as your main partner." Now she's the one rambling. Debating with herself over an issue that doesn't even exist.

"I'd hate to burst your bubble." Of course this is a lie. I take great pleasure in ending this ridiculous conspiracy she's concocted in her head. "But my relationship with them is nothing of that sort. " I sigh, the disheartened sound brought about by my exasperation in handling my small statured companion. "I've already spoken on my feelings towards Kiara, if you still doubt my sincerity there's nothing I can say to appease you. And my other friend is more of a business partner. I'm the supplier to their demands." Ok, if the suspicious glare on Saber's face is any indicator, I could have probably worded that better.

"Mmm … is that the truth?" What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Does she honestly think someone would answer 'no' that that question. I mean, I'm not even lying here, but I still can't help but ponder the intelligence that went into her wording.

"I assure you it is."

For some baffling reason, she frowns at this. "Mmm … and are you absolutely sure you want to keep the relationship that way?" What the fuck?

"Why do you sound disappointed?" There's an edge of frustration to my words.

She crosses her arms over her chest. I'm beginning to be annoyed with this conversation. We're in enemy territory, surrounded by an unknown feeling of power, and she's bothering to debate with me whether or not I'd find pleasure in copulating with a deranged nun and my main buyer in this godforsaken city. What is heaven's name is wrong with this woman?

"I am not sure whether I should be disappointed or relieved. Even though it protects our relationship, you are being quite unimaginative, Praetor. It is quite unlike you, and far from the proper mindset of an artist." I wonder if malachite can be turned into a weapon? I mean, it is a rock so I should be able to turn it into something somewhat deadly. After all the Aztecs did turn obsidian into blades as sharp as broken glass. The only question left is whether I should craft such a weapon in order to skewer Saber or end my own wretched existence.

"You're telling me you want to experiment." Not a question, no a statement. One filled with incredulity. I shouldn't be surprised. With that stunt in the bathroom Saber's shown herself to be almost on the same level as Kiara. Almost.

"Well, I would not altogether be against the idea." There are somethings that should never be said on the first date. And this isn't even the first date. We aren't even dating! What the hell is wrong with this woman?! She's sounding like some forty year old swinger! "Of course, I must be the main focus of your adoration. This is to be expected, as the Emperor should always be the most revered."

You know, I don't think my brain can handle any more of this. I walk over to Saber, and place a firm hand on top of her head. Then I ruffle her hair, just like how an elder sibling would to their younger sister. Hear that Saber? You've been friend zoned so much I consider you a sister! Ha! Who's the 'Emperor' now?!

"Let's end this conversation, and forget about it forever." More hair ruffling despite her meek protests. "Besides, I'm not into bestiality."

This causes her to stir slightly underneath my palm. "Your friend is an animal?" That's the question you ask?! Oh Pesci, please tell me she's moral enough to be dissuaded. I don't need to learn she's like Catherine the Great.

I chuckle slightly, despite my inner feelings of turmoil. "Uh … no she's human. But she's got the ferocity of a tiger."

Her head bobs up and down, a signal that she understands. "Very well. I will enjoy meeting her." She shifts her gaze up to meet mine, her chin defiantly pointing upwards despite my hand holding her down. "I believe she will enjoy making my acquaintance even more." Bravo. Way to be humble.

"Let's just get out of here before something shows up." Whether that 'something' is the monster from before or the origin of this strange aura is left up to the imagination to decide.

I pocket the malachite, it rattles around in my pocket lightly tapping against the blade of Saber's catalyst. Thankfully this terrible conversation is over. Now, off to meet the Wicked Witch of the West. Maybe she'll help me escape my financial crisis. Either that or she'll find a way to consume my remaining rations out from under my nose.

* * *

 **AN: Now that I think about it there is another canon character involved in this chapter that wasn't in GEGE. She's going to show up next chapter more, but she won't be a main character or anything like that. Also big thanks to King Kieth as always for giving this thing a look-see before I posted it.**

 **Now time to address you guys' reviews!**

 **Anthem of the Night: First off I'd just like to say I'm a fan of the OC you've used in your own Fate related stories. A nameless crusader that uses dark magic? That just sounds awesome. My one gripe was that his personality seemed to be inconsistent and borderline erratic at times. Maybe that's what you were going for? A sort of unstable Joker like character. But I digress, Interstellar is probably one of the better sci-fi movies to come out in a while, in my opinion. The Martian was a really good film too. Thanks for your kind words! That dream sequence was really hard to write, to be honest. I felt like I just couldn't settle for anything short of perfection on account of it being such an important event in Nero's history. I still feel like it wasn't the best it could have been, but I'm somewhat happy with how it turned out regardless. Well, from Dante's reaction this chapter I would say he had more of a stroke, rather than a panic attack, lol.**

 **Matrience: You're welcome! Thanks for reviewing!**

 **King0fP0wers: You propose an interesting question. How would Dante and Gil get along? That is, if Gil did't execute Dante on the spot after getting insulted by him, lol. If Dante knew what Gil was capable of he'd probably bide his time rather than outright mock him. Sort of like Tokiomi, except he'd be more ballsy about it. I can kind of agree that Gil would see him as a useless court jester who's only talent was cheap entertainment. I can say one thing though, at least Gil couldn't call him a Faker! Unless of course there's prototype firearms in the Gate of Babylon. If I ever end up finishing this story I just might toss Dante into Fate Zero. That way you'd be able to see just how Dante and Iskandar would get along. I think that Dante would see him as a blowhard, but a charming blowhard in his own right. Ozymandias would be much the same, since he's basically a toned down version of Gil. As for Nitocris, well I don't know much about her besides her inclusion in Grand Order. But I don't think Dante would find her too unbearable. Especially if he met her after the events of this story. No one can top Nero in comparison, lol.**

 **Tomster627: I can wholeheartedly agree with this! Which is why this chapter started off strong with a reference to one of the best worst movies ever made.**

 **Emperor Lelouch Lamperouge: All Hail Lelouch! Er ... thanks for the praise! Characterization is the main thing I've been working on as I don't want to improperly portray Nero or any of the others. I'm hoping I can continue meeting your expectations in the future as well!**


	7. Eye of the Tiger

**Disclaimer: I'm terribly sorry with how this chapter was kind of delayed. (It took me a week to even start it) So in return I've made it the longest chapter so far. Bon app** **étit!**

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 **Chapter 7- Eye of the Tiger**

"Let's do this." I kick the gate open, Saber rushes in front of me storming the group of armed guards in front of us. She incapacitates them without a moment's notice. Such is the strength of a Servant. No mere mortal can dare to hold a candle up to their name. Let alone common street thugs.

I pull the Pico out from its makeshift holster (my waistband). Shots pop off into the distance; all aimed center mass. One, two, three men fall backwards from the force of the impact. A fourth attempts to point his rifle at me. It's a Chinese knockoff of the AKM. Not a bad gun, but the weight and size of the weapon end up being a hindrance to him, rather than a help. I'm in front of him before he can so much as bring the rifle to his eye. I help him out, grabbing the rifle by its barrel and jabbing the stock of the weapon straight into his face. Not exactly the proper way to sight a gun, but it works here.

The AK ends up becoming a crude club. Another gangster tries to sneak up on me, seeking to thrust a knife into my neck. He would have had a better chance doing this if he'd used a plastic one.

The weapon veers off its intended course, instead striking nothing but the air in front of my face. It gives me a perfect opportunity to grab my assailant's arm. I avoid doing the obvious maneuver (breaking the appendage) and instead pull him forward violently. He's lifted over my head and slammed into the ground in front of me. It was a pretty sloppy suplex to be honest. If the dude hadn't panicked, he could have avoided it with a quick elbow to my face.

Then again, what Yakuza would ever think that one day he'd get suplexed by some gaijin mutt? Not this Yakuza. He's on the ground wheezing. Of course, as a gentleman, I soothe his suffering. The butt of my rifle comes down on his head. Hard.

With the man's dagger in my hand I formulate a quick idea, an intimidation tactic. One that isn't used quite as often as it used to have been. War has changed after all. The knife's guard shifts, the metal elongating on one side until there's enough material for it to curve into a circular insert. I attach it to the barrel of my new AK. Bayonet at the ready.

With a rebel yell I charge into the crowd. They scatter like ants before a tidal wave. I must be quite the sight. A disheveled foreigner with a mad glint in my eye, charging at men with select fire rifles without a second thought. Is this what it must have felt to be a soldier in World War I? Storming the trenches with sabers and clubs even though you knew the enemy had machine guns. Such insanity. And I'm representing that right now.

Come to think of it, that's not really the case. After all, I do have one of those fully-automatic rifles at my disposal. I'm just using it like a spear instead of a gun. Hell, even the safety's still on. The dumbass who tried to shoot me with it didn't even realize that tiny little detail.

One brave soul has the courage to meet my charge. Instead of firing upon me he tries to use his rifle to counter the swipe of my bayonet. I cut it in half. Reinforcement, bitches. He stumbles backwards.

I keep applying pressure, getting straight into his face and staring him in the eyes. There's only an inch or so between us. He's completely stunned; the look in his eyes is fearful but accepting. Those are the eyes of a man that's scared of death yet strong enough to welcome it with open arms. I must look like the devil to him. Or whatever form of demon that exists in Japanese myth. An oni, or something like that.

I surprise him even more when I take a step back. He matches my gaze with unflinching eyes. The uncertainty remains, he's unsure of what I'm going to do and cautious because of this. His body tenses in anticipation, ready for any assault I might launch.

When none comes, he crouches in a combat stance, his body coiling like a spring. I don't move an inch.

He barrels towards me, not at all unlike a meteor hurtling towards the Earth, a comet soaring off into the distance. I wait until he's less than a foot away, his fist pulled back as he prepares to throw a punch at my jaw.

It never comes.

I smash the butt of the rifle into his stomach, then, as he doubles over in pain, I bring it up and launch a brutal downward blow on the back of his head.

He crumples to the ground, just like all the others who dared to stand in my way.

"Praetor, are you done yet?" Saber's already at the top of the stairs we have to climb. Her hands are at her hips and she's pouting down at me. Guess patience isn't a virtue to her. She shakes her head like a teacher scolding an unruly pupil.

"Was that really necessary, Praetor? Could you not have simply hit him in the head and be done with it?"

I sigh at her complaining. "I thought you had a flair for the dramatic?"

This throws her for a loop. "Mmm … you have me there, Praetor." She shrugs. "It is still unwise to make an Emperor wait. You should be more considerate."

Did she just … tell me to be considerate? She has the nerve to tell me that?! After all she's put me through in the last 24 hours!

Calm down, Dante. Calm down. Let it go. She's an idiot. Don't blame her for being an idiot. Blame her bad genes and improper upbringing.

I sigh deeply in response to her audacity. My shoulders slump in defeat. There's no point in arguing with her flawed logic. I can only go along with the ride that is her stupidity.

"Let's just get this over with." I stomp up the stairs, slowly making my way back to her. The dozen or so unconscious thugs surrounding her make this seem kind of like a Bruce Lee film. Except instead of kung fu and nunchakus we have guns and a sword. And the main protagonist is a blonde heroine and not an Asian man. So … Kill Bill: Vol Saber?

Saber huffs in frustration at my response. I ignore her and push open the doors in front of us. Come to think of it, this place really does look like some weird martial arts studio. It's kind of like a dojo mixed with a temple. Odd.

I walk inside, the soles of my shoes tapping against the tile floor. Saber stays behind me for moment, seemingly unsure if she should follow me or not. Her mind is made when she sees me lift the AK into a firing position. It's almost endearing how swiftly she moves to my side.

"It is rude for guests to not remove their shoes before entering someone's home." That voice sends shivers down my spine. Not the good kind either. It feels more like someone shoved an icicle into the small of my back.

"Is it not just as rude for a host not to reveal themselves to their guest?" Saber quips. Not bad. I mean I would have said something more along the lines of "kiss my ass", but I guess sometimes a little class in one's insults can go a long way.

The voice doesn't respond, seemingly taken aback by Saber's defiance. Or, knowing the person behind that voice, she's trying very hard to not lose her cool at such a blatant display of disrespect. Albeit unsuccessfully if the grunts of frustration I'm hearing are any indicator.

I follow this sound, using it like a trail of footprints to lead me to my destination. "Saber, do me a favor?" It's one of the few times I've asked her to do something for me. She takes note of this.

"A favor? I wonder what it could be?" I don't give her much time to wonder, hoping against all odds that she won't be able to imagine anything preposterous before I reply.

"I need you to promise you won't attack." She stops dead in her tracks.

"Praetor?"

"Just trust me on this, Saber. Don't do anything that could be so much as construed as an act of aggression. I'll handle this."

Her eyes lock onto mine, judging the emotion behind my gaze to find the slightest hint of misdirection or dishonesty. There is none.

"I do not understand your reasoning for this, Praetor. But I will oblige." She smiles at me. A teasing smile that is quite fitting for her. "Just this once."

I scoff at that closing remark, turning away from her and continuing to walk towards the sputters of exasperation our host is releasing. "Just … watch my back. Ok?"

She nods, that teasing smile ever present on her face. "In return I would expect you to do the same." A pause, I can already tell she's preparing to say something idiotic. "After all, my back is quite pleasing to the eyes."

I walk away before she goes into a monologue about how the beauty of her back is more exuberant than the even the beauty of Venus' front. I don't particularly care how her looks compare to imaginary gods as long as she manages not to screw this up for me.

For good measure, I eject the loaded round chambered in the AK. Pulling the charging handle back, while I walk forward, and watching absentmindedly as the spent cartridge lands on the floor with a soft _clink_ sound. I unload the magazine from the rifle and pocket it, not even bothering to slow down as I continue walking.

I can feel an undercurrent of doubt from Saber via our mental link. It's subtle, but still there. She's curious as to what I'm planning, and worried that I might be making a mistake. Her worry is for naught. I place the rifle against the wall, propping it up diagonally so it doesn't scuff the floor.

"Alright, Saber. Let me introduce you to my 'friend'." She doesn't even get a chance to voice the shock on her face. I enter the room where our host's voice originated from.

"Oi, Tiger! They haven't put you in a zoo yet?" This question is met with the unmistakable sound of guns being drawn and cocked. "Color me surprised. Aren't endangered species supposed to be kept someplace they can be preserved and studied?"

There are at least thirty guys in here. Armed with a vast arsenal of handguns, shotguns, submachine guns, and rifles. Oh, and there's also this fatass with an M60E4. He's holding it at the hip as if he's Rambo. Idiot.

The woman I addressed is reclining in a quite expensive leather sofa. These men surround her like her own personal Secret Service. Even though they're more amateurish, I know for a fact each and every one of them would take a bullet for her. That's loyalty for ya.

All of them aim at me. The only one that doesn't react is the woman they're protecting. A stoic expression remains on her face. I can tell that inwardly her blood's boiling at the nickname I used for her.

Saber rushes to my side, her sword materializing in the blink of an eye. I grab her by the shoulder, stopping her from lashing out at them. "Now what did I just say?"

She looks at me, eyes conflicted. I can tell she's torn between following my request and protecting me from harm. "It's alright. I got this." I give her an encouraging smile.

The sword vanishes, and Saber relaxes. She sighs and once more her eyes meet mine. "I hope that is the case." Ouch, no trust in my abilities?

The woman gestures for her men to not fire. They comply without any hesitation. She gets up from her sofa, wading through her guards to meet me face to face. The outfit she wears is supposed to be a combination of sleek and sexy. Kind of like Black Widow in the Avengers.

Black slacks, a belt with a silver buckle, and a black blouse with the top two buttons unfastened to show off some cleavage. I use the word 'some' loosely. This woman's a B cup at most. Usually she would be wearing a fur jacket over all of this. Black just like the rest of her outfit with the lining being made using the white fur of some exotic animal I'm unfamiliar with. She's already taken it off though, I notice it laid in a crumpled pile on her sofa.

"…." The woman is shorter than me, but not by much. She certainly towers over Saber. Her light brown eyes meet my honey colored ones, and for a moment the room's atmosphere is heavy with tension. This woman's very presence energizes the air I breathe. She's like an electric conductor of confidence and strength. A wild animal unable of being tamed. The King of her very own Jungle.

"How's a goin Tiger?" In another parallel universe, this would be uttered by a gorgeous redheaded bombshell greeting their personal superhero. That superhero, a spider loving nerd, would become flustered. And that's how their love story would begin.

This is not a love story. I am not an independent ginger woman. The 'lady' I'm addressing is not an antisocial geek. In a way, I wish she was. If she were she might shyly fumble over her words.

Instead she proceeds to pummel me with a shinai.

The wooden stick comes down on my skull. Hard. It's like a life-sized game of whack-a-mole. Unfortunately, I'm the mole.

Thankfully this lasts but a moment. My assailant is only able of landing three good hits before she's stopped. By who? Saber of course, my knight in 'shining armor'.

"Remember when I said you should let me handle this?" I rub my noggin in an attempt at shaking off the migraine that was bound to rear its ugly head. "Well, I was wrong. Thanks for the save."

Saber briefly smiles at me before her expression settles into one of stoic determination. Their blades are crossed a mere two feet in the air above me. Her sword is blocking the shinai from continuing in its downward strike aimed at my head. Despite the overwhelming strength of a Servant, the woman in black still tries to push down on the blade in an attempt at overwhelming Saber. Her crimson sword doesn't budge an inch. What does budge is the shinai.

The wooden instrument of death fractures in its struggle to break through Saber's defense. The glorified stick snaps in two, both pieces landing in front of my feet.

Saber's blade hovers in front of me, the weapon of war acting as a shield to protect me. I pat her on the shoulder to placate her. There's no need to seek retribution, the enemy has lost.

"That was my favorite one …." Her tone does not fit her appearance. Not at all. The head of Fuyuki's yakuza clan should not sound like a dejected little girl.

She balls her fists, as if preparing to strike me down. Saber stands by to intercept any incoming blows. None come.

The fat yakuza armed with an M60 comes up to us. Saber tenses at his presence. This man's prior career was most likely that of a sumo wrestler. He's that big. Guess what they say is right. It will go right to your thighs.

The larger man pats his boss on the back. The sight is comical to say the least, a gigantic whale of a man comforting the slender woman in front of me. It was like King Kong reaching down to stroke Ann. Beauty and the Beast.

Of course, it's slightly unfair to refer to Taiga Fujimura as a 'beast'. She might be absolutely rabid on her worst days, but on a good day she was actually quite charming in her eccentric mannerisms.

What? Did you think I was calling the sumo guy a beast? Absolutely not. I mean, how could anyone call such a magnificent creature something so baseless as a beast? You can't have 'love handles' without a lot of 'love'. And a lot of KFC.

Taiga calms down considerable at the touch of her comrade. She loses that borderline bratty behavior of hers. It's replaced by a completely composed demeanor. I'm not longer speaking to Taiga Fujimura, former English high school teacher and beloved goofball. No. It's like a bucket of ice water was thrown on her head. I'm not speaking to that Taiga. I'm speaking to Boss Lady Fujimura. The woman that crushed her rivals when they tried unsuccessfully to flex their muscle. The woman that stepped up and took control in the power vacuum her grandfather's death created. The woman that did what she had to do to protect her so-called 'family'; the only yakuza in this country that still clung to the old ways of honor and loyalty.

"It's been a while Taiga." She glances at her men from the corner of her eye, judging their levels of preparedness. They notice her look and understand what it means. _Be ready to gun him down if he makes a wrong move._

I'm not confined to using such a blatantly obvious tell. Sending Saber a mental command is much easier, and inconspicuous to boot. _Be ready for a fight._

"Explain exactly why you felt the need to attack my men." Gone is that playful attitude. That ridiculous moment of comedic relief ushers in one of the most stressful moments of my life.

Not because I'm in fear for my life. Saber could handle them easily. I wouldn't even need to move a finger. But that's not why this is stressing me out. No, my nerves are acting up for one simple reason. If I screw up here I'm going to remain broke. And if I'm broke I'm not going to have any of the freedom I had in the past. That's not something I can allow during a war. I need to keep all options available. Only having 32 cents in the bank doesn't allow me to even get a soda from a vending machine.

"They wouldn't let me in."

Taiga waves one of the men forward. He hurries to her side. I'm going to call this guy Otto. Not because he looks like Bismarck. If he did I'd have some modicum of respect for him. No, I'm calling him Otto because he looks like the main character from that goddamn hideous kid's show Rocket Power. Ever seen an ugly Japanese man with a fake tan and dreadlocks? No? Your life is ten times better than mine.

Taiga and Otto have some words. By some words I mean exactly eight. I can hear them, mainly because she's not trying to be quiet. "Did your men stop them from entering?"

"Yes." He says this so bluntly that I can't help but question the man's IQ levels. He's either as dumb as his namesake, or he's constipated. Why is he constipated? Well, it's simple. He just doesn't give a shit.

Of course, there's a fine line between stupidity and bravery. Clearly this man crossed that line. Taiga drop kicks his ass. You think I'm joking? I'm not. She pulls something straight out of the WWE. Her security team even cheers her on. One even takes off his shirt to proudly display a tattoo he has on his stomach of her face. Strange, I thought Kiara was the only cult leader this side of town.

I can't help myself. I start snickering. That quickly becomes a giggle. Then, a full-blown guffaw. This is just too absurd. It's like something out of a bad slice of life comedy drama. Is this real life? Or is just a fantasy?

The resounding crack six inches above my head tells me this is in fact reality. The noise puts an end to my merry mood. I inch my view upwards. Saber once again saved me. Taiga's somehow managed to rearm herself. Except this time, it's an actual weapon being used on me. A naginata. It's a Japanese polearm. A favored tool of cavalry and footman alike and preferred spear of the samurai.

I've always found spears to be the most impressive form of bladed weaponry. They're basically the Kalashnikov of antiquity. It could be argued that more people have died to the various forms of spears than to any other weapon in humanity's arsenal, past or present.

And now I currently have one hovering above my face. Like an executioner seeking to end my life. The guillotine is coming down to decapitate me.

I would have been ended right then and there had Saber not intervened. The thought causes me to sweat. A drop falls from my nose and lands on the tile floor below my feet.

"Thanks Saber." She nods. Her eyes are dead set on the enemy that just tried to strike me down. This mere mortal dared to test her. A Heroic Spirit being challenged by a normal human. The very notion is preposterous. But you know what the scary part is?

Saber isn't offended by this slight against her capabilities. If anything, she's intrigued. Her appetite has been whetted. Why is this the case? Well, it's simple. Taiga's blade is only six inches from coming down on me. It was at least two feet away the last time Saber blocked her. She almost overwhelmed Saber in speed. That's impossible. No normal person should be able to be so fast. Especially not a mundane human lacking the aid of magic. Either Taiga's a cyborg, or she's the fastest swordsman alive.

"It was rude to laugh at his pain." Her eyes twinkle. I can tell she's fighting back the urge to laugh. This just means she isn't being serious right now. So that attack was nothing more than a ploy? Perhaps a power play to put me in my place? No. It's much simpler. Taiga just enjoys screwing with people's heads.

"I'm going to hold the wellbeing of my men against you." And just like that the mischievous look in her eyes disappears. Like air whooshing out of a popped balloon. It indicates she's serious about this. She values her men's wellbeing. As any suitable leader ought to, mind you. I can't help but admire that loyalty. Judging from the weeping coming from her so-called 'guards' I feel I'm not the only one that's impressed. She has her own personal fan club. How quaint.

 _Praetor, do you wish for me to organize a fan club of our own? In a day I could amass a small legion by my name recognition alone._ Saber sounds splendidly giddy over such an idea.

 _Now's not really the time. Build a club for yourself first._ I toss that in there as both a diplomatic offer and a distraction. If she's working on such an inane project, she'll be busy. If she's busy, she won't be able to pester me with other inane projects. My logic is sound, no? I feel like I'm forgetting something. Like the entire reason Saber's here …. Oh, shit.

 _Disregard my last comment._

 _Ah, so this means you do want a club for yourself! I understand, Praetor, I will work on our organizations simultaneously. We will each be one another's number one fan!_ The mental image makes me shudder.

"Huh? Felt a draft, did you?" Taiga's drawl brought me back to the actual problem at hand.

 _It might take a little while though. Rome wasn't built in a day after all._ Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. I glance back at the woman that's been pestering me. She grins at me, effortlessly continuing to hold back Taiga's blade.

I cough into my fist and rub my shoulders as if I'm cold. "I must be catching a cold." Before Saber can interrupt with some ridiculous statement like 'I can make you a marvelous stew to relieve your ailments' I continue, a victorious smirk plastered plain as day on my face. "Or maybe it was a ghost?"

Taiga's face turns pale white, the same color as parchment. "G-g-g-hosts?" She stutters this out. The naginata is pulled closer to her, and she holds it like a little girl would hold a teddy bear protectively. Saber blinks, utterly thrown off by this change in attitude.

Immediately her squad pushes up to surround her, a human wall of fat, muscle, and copious amounts of hair gel. "We'll protect you, Boss Lady!" They shout this as one single unit, a unified chorus of men bound by duty to protect their liege. Holy shit, I need this type of loyalty. This is something you can't just buy. Who the hell did she kill to get them this dedicated? How much of their insurance is she covering?

"Oh! I see it right there!" They turn in the direction I point at. I expect them to do something stupid like punch at the air or something. What I don't expect, and what I should have, was them firing into the air.

Saber instinctively rushes in front of me, assuming the gunfire was going to come my way. Well, she assumed incorrectly. These dipshits turn the roof into Swiss cheese. Ever heard thirty rifles go off at once? Ever heard thirty fully loaded magazines emptied in the span of three seconds? No on both accounts? Lucky you. I just had that unpleasant experience. And I think I'm deaf now. Wunderbar.

"Saber? Disarm these morons before they hurt someone by accident." I can't hear her response, but judging from how she charges at them, I'm assuming she's following my orders. Or she's going to kill them all. At this point I don't even give a damn either way.

"Analyze." A quick check up on my ears informs me they've managed to burst my left eardrum. I sigh at this inconvenience, ignoring the hollow ache coming from my ear canal. Touching the ear, I mutter to myself the next spell necessary to avoid being permanently hearing impaired. "Alter."

It takes far too much prana for what I'm doing. If I'd learned healing magic this would be much more efficient. Instead I have to reshape the eardrum using only what I was able of analyzing and the iron in my blood as a reference. Essentially I'm doing surgery blind, deaf, and dumb. I might as well start drinking next. Pesci knows I could seriously use a brewski right now.

I watch with mild amusement as Saber disarms Taiga's crew. Unfortunately, she tends to slice their guns in half more often than not. Inwardly I cringe at the loss of good weaponry. Outwardly I also cringe. But that's more from the uncomfortable itching I'm feeling due to how I'm fixing my ear.

I'm glad when the damage is repaired. I'm still hearing an airy sound with my left ear, almost as if I had a conch shell pressed against the ear. It's annoying. But at least I can sort of hear something. I'll need to see a doctor in order to sort this out completely. I'm sending the bill to Taiga.

Speaking of Taiga, she's escaped from that unpleasant situation relatively unharmed. Courtesy of the earplugs she's now removing from her ears. Did she … play me? Or are sporadic bursts of untrained gunfire a common occurrence around here? I suppose she wasn't really looking for talent when she hired this miserable lot. Maybe that's why they're so loyal? She's probably the only one stupid enough to give them a job.

Is that guy that tried to stop me outside the online semi-competent member of her organization? If so, I can't allow that to continue. Good talent shouldn't be allowed to go to waste.

Taiga's men are now shouting at each other. Not because they're angry or anything like that. No, there's a simple explanation as to why they feel the need to raise their voices. I only went temporarily deaf in one ear. They've just become permanently deaf in both. Fucking morons.

Saber gives me a look that sums up my emotions quite well, a mixture of confusion, pity, and amusement. We're gazing upon a train wreck, and we can't turn away from the sight.

"This … this is the best of your men?" Taiga gives me a sheepish grin. She awkwardly scratches the side of her face, obviously stalling while she racks her brain for a proper answer.

"Well … they're my bravest men?" That shouldn't be a question. If you're going to say something like that you should say it with pride and without hesitation.

"Bravery and stupidity are not mutually exclusive."

"Oi! What the hell did you just say to me, Tatsuki!"

"What?!"

"What'd you say about my mom?!"

"Do I want to go to the prom? What the hell?"

"That's it! I've had enough of your shit, Tatsuki!"

As if to prove my point, they all start fighting. It's a mosh pit of morons. I gesture to the brawl unfolding in front of my eyes, and give Saber a pleading look. She sighs, and her shoulders slump in defeat, but she does what I ask of her. In ten seconds thirty men are knocked out by a girl under five feet tall.

Taiga blinks at the blatant show of force. "I see why you hang around her." She remarks dryly, clearly unnerved yet unwilling to show it.

"Why else would I?" Saber frowns at me, which makes me feel like a slight ass. But it's not like we've met each other under normal circumstances. She's a killing machine, and I'm, well, me.

Taiga looks over Saber's appearance, a knowing grin forms on her face. Her eyes sparkle. I regret asking that question. "What did I tell you, Dante? Did I not warn you about breaking a fair maiden's heart?!" She swings her naginata at me.

I'm prepared for it this time, so I easily block it just below the blade with my arm. The force of the blow would normally break bone, but I've already applied an extra layer of reinforcement to ward off such a fate. I've let her have her fun. We've played this little game. But I've had enough of it. I'm a busy man, and I have places to go and people to see. A show of force is necessary to send a message to Taiga and her ragtag group of yakuza.

"Saber. Break that thing in half." Her sword slices clean through Taiga's weapon, effectively making it as useful as her broken shinai.

I grab the blade. Prana flows through my circuits and into the metal. I don't even need to use my aria. This is a weapon already, it doesn't need any coercion to change one tool of war into another. And just like that I have a revolver in my right hand, pointed straight at Taiga's forehead. My left hand's already reaching back for the Pico in anticipation of her resistance.

Saber tenses in anticipation of a fight. I can't tell if she's displeased by the action I've taken or not. To be honest it doesn't matter now.

Taiga looks straight into my eyes, her steely gaze meeting mine. "It's been a while since I've had a gun aimed at me." She says this nonchalantly, as if she were commenting on the weather.

"That just means you've gotten complacent." She's been teasing me. Shifting from serious to playful at the drop of a hat. This meeting was supposed to have been a business discussion and nothing more. Instead she's made a mockery of it. Her men are as loyal to her as ever, but they're incompetent. She's still in her prime, even though she's in her forties, but she's gotten too relaxed.

"I called you ahead of time. You knew I was going to show up and you didn't even give your men a forewarning?"

"I figured they'd beat some sense into you."

She points her index finger at my accusingly. "The last time I saw you was two years ago! You think you can just waltz in here without so much as an apology?"

I flip the safety, relaxing my grip on the weapon as I stop pointing it at her. My left hand lets go of the Pico and pulls my shirt back down to cover it. "You know where I live. You could have done the same anytime."

Taiga pouts; seemingly back to her childish behavior now that a pistol's not aimed at her. "You don't have a doorbell."

What? "Have you never heard of knocking?" When she doesn't answer I start walking away.

"Come on, Saber. We'll just talk to one of the smaller groups around here."

"Wait!"

"Ignore her. Don't look back."

"You can't go and aid one of my rivals!"

I whirl around, ignoring my own advice. Saber almost runs into me. "You have my phone number!"

"And?"

"You could have called me any time!" My head hurts from this stupidity.

"Praetor, is she some sort of ex-lover of yours?"

"Why do you have to start now? I'm already losing enough brain cells as is."

"So the rumors are true …." What rumors?

Taiga charges at me, instinctively I flip off the revolver's safety. Saber stiffens, preparing to strike her down. When she's within ten feet Saber swings at her, her sword cleaving a path straight towards the woman.

Without stopping, Taiga dodges, bending backwards to let the blade fly past her. For a brief moment I have a vivid image of her in a Hawaiian shirt doing the limbo. This woman isn't human.

She dodges another blow, one that should have separated her head clean from her shoulders. And before Saber can attempt another strike, before I can so much as get an aim on her, she's in my face.

I'm immediately wrapped in an uncomfortable hug. So sudden is the act that I drop the revolver in surprise. Luck must be on my side though, as the weapon doesn't accidentally discharge from the fall. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! You finally got a girlfriend!"

End my miserable existence. I'm about to use a Command Spell to have Saber thrust her blade through the both of us. I'll sacrifice myself for the good of humanity if it means the death of this nuisance of a woman.

"Girlfriend?" Saber is the one that says this. I don't like her tone of voice. It's too … girly for a Heroic Spirit/former Roman emperor.

"I … can't … breath …." Despite her overall lacking in the breast department, Taiga's still managing to suffocate me with her itty bitty tities. I don't know if that's pathetic or impressive. Probably both.

I'm being held like a proud mother would hold their teenage son. It's beyond degrading. I'm a grown ass man, goddammit! "Stop …."

I was a fool to come here. Nothing productive has happened. I'm just having my time wasted. It's like going on a painfully boring side quest in an MMO only to earn an abysmally miniscule amount of experience.

I manage to push the woman off of me, freeing myself from her iron grasp. "Do you want my guns or not?!"

"You've grown up so fast!" I didn't meet you until I was in my early twenties! You don't even know how old I am?!

"Do you want the guns?!"

She waves the question away. "Of course. Same rate as before. But that's not important. Let's talk about you."

"Let's not."

"When's the wedding?"

Saber brightens up at this. Don't play along with this to torment me, woman. I'm not in the mood. "When's yours?"

Deflection is the best tool to avoid confrontation. I don't have the time nor did I have the patience to carefully explain the misconception Taiga's make. Knowing her, most of that conversation would probably be forgotten. The truth is often less interesting than romanticized fiction. Telling her that Saber is Emperor Nero back from the dead to fight in a war for the Holy Grail would probably intrigue her less than the idea that Saber's some tough independent woman that's managed to have whipped me.

She blushes substantially at my counter, seemingly taken aback by how forward I am. I'm disappointed that she's surprised. She's supposed to be a hardened criminal warlord, not some high-schooler confessing to their crush. A few years of no action and this is the result? Pathetic. I'm going to have to beat this group into shape. Proper equipment does little good without proper training. I can't just give a bunch of morons a bunch of guns and expect them not to shoot themselves in the foot. Or worse, shoot some poor innocent bystander by accident and toss me into the local news.

"You're like, what, forty-three? Forty-four? And you're still single." I snort in amusement. "How many cats do you have?" _Saber._ I mentally send her an IM. _I want you to hold her off when I run. On the count of three._

 _What?_

 _No time for questions. One._

Taiga turns scarlet as blood rushes to her head.

 _Two._ I can practically see the blood rush to her eyes, it gives her the appearance of a hungover drunk.

 _Three._ Her maw opens in a glorious roar, the sound of a predator declaring to their prey that they hunt was on.

I lightly jog out of the room, stopping just long enough to pick up the AK in the hallway before breaking out into a full on sprint for the front door.

"And don't hurt her! I can't get paid if my buyer's dead!"

Muffled screaming was my only response as the two women clashed in battle.

I make it through the security gate that borders the Fujimura compound, wheezing from the exertion, my hands on my knees as I bend over to catch my breath.

"So, that takes care of them." My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull the object out and answer the incoming call.

"Yo, Dante?"

"Who else, the Queen of Sheba?"

"You know what? This would be so more efficient if you resisted the urge to be an asshole for one second."

"I haven't been an asshole to you for three years."

"Yeah, because you were being an asshole by ignoring us for three years."

"Kazoo is this really the time to rant your frustrations at me?"

"I told you not to call me that."

"But you're totally the Kazooie to my Banjo."

"It's Kazumoto! Not Kazu. And definitely not Kazoo!"

"I rather like the sound of Kazoo to be honest. It sounds silly and whimsical, completely unfitting for someone of your 'position'."

"I just called to tell you we took care of that bank prick."

"What'd you do to him?"

"Well, none of us were really that good at drawing. But Yagami is always writing shit in his notebook so we figured we could go ahead and have him give it a go."

"What."

"It was more of a stick figure type thing, not really that impressive. But I think it counts."

"What."

"And then we got a ton of those rolls of coins from the bank and chucked them at him until he started crying."

"…."

"It was kind of pathetic so we just kind of patted him on the back and told him to go home early. Security guards escorted him out and everything."

I … just can't even.

"Then I opened a savings account and got a free toaster. They got like a 1.00% intro rate for the first six months. That's badass."

"Exactly why I opened my account there."

"Yeah, who knew you had any idea how to handle money. I would have thought you more like the type to blow it all on cocaine and hookers."

"…."

"Yeah, so just calling to tell you 'mission accomplished'. That's about it. The Underground's still getting renovated a little. Should be up by tomorrow."

"You know, I asked you to make sure he was 'drawn and quartered'."

"Well we kind of did that. I just told you that. And it was kind of a pain in the ass, so I was thinking I should get a raise or something for wasting my time on something so stupid."

"I didn't mean to literally draw him and then rain quarters down upon him as if he were a particularly inexpensive stripper."

"Oh." There's a pause as that revelation dawns on him. "Oh!"

"Yeah. 'Oh'."

"You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

"You said 'consider it done'! I assumed you understood my implications!"

"Remind me again as to what the hell a 'drawn and quarter' looks like?"

"For the love of Pesci, can't you look it up on Google?"

"I don't want the NSA spying on me."

"We're in Japan!"

"And? The Harweys showed up yesterday. Who knows who else is popping up in Fuyuki nowadays."

"Excuse me?" I could feel the color draining from my face at his statement.

"Yeah, I mean, you're here and you're not Japanese. Who's to say some G-Man from the States isn't monitoring what ol' Kazumoto is doing in his spare time? They could be watching me even now."

"First of all, you're batshit crazy. But I like that. You make for good conversation."

Mock sniffling comes from the phone line. "That … means more to me then you'll ever know."

"Secondly, what did you just say about the Harweys?"

"Oh, that blonde faggot and his emo brother showed up at the airport yesterday. Had some other blonde pretty boy on their heels. Probably some ass kissing little shit."

If it wasn't obvious, the Harweys were typically viewed with disdain around these parts. "Normally I'd ask you to point on the doll where them big bad plutocrats hurt you. But today, I'm too busy. Anything else for me?"

"Yeah, I got in contact with Koko, she's game to start buying from us again."

"That all?"

"Oh, yeah I got your text. Turns out some of our boys helped that lady friend of your moves in. They saw you earlier in the week and thought you guys were an item."

"So they helped her move shit because they thought she was with me?"

"Yup."

"Give 'em a raise."

"Can do. Want me to have them move it out?"

"Nah, just get them to replace some of the essentials I'm missing."

"Ten-four."

Awkward silence hung over the line.

"So … we only selling guns this time?"

"Remember when we tried to sell a Monopoly knock-off?"

"I dunno, I kind of liked that game."

"Only guns."

"What about frozen steaks?"

"Hell no."

"Bottled water?"

"No. Just guns."

"Explosives?"

"Of course."

"Ammo too?"

"Obviously."

"Let's at least start selling kid's toys."

"No."

"I'm telling you it's a goldmine!"

"No."

"Just look at how much money Hasbro has made! We could make a killing off of bootleg My Little Pony figurines!"

"We're not doing anything big this time. Just weapons."

"Party pooper."

"Goodbye."

"What about giant robots?! Everyone wants giant robots!"

Click. I hang up on the ignoramus on the other end. Just in time too, as Saber walks up to me right at that moment.

"You good?"

"I am adequate, Praetor. That woman put up quite an excellent fight for a normal human."

"Nothing is normal 'bout Taiga."

"Quite so. I believe she would make an excellent addition to my harem."

"'Your harem'?"

"Yes, it is quite unusual for a woman of such an age to be so passionate. I cannot help but be intrigued, despite her criminal background."

"But what's this about it being 'your harem'?"

She blinks at me, caught unprepared by my question. Then a smug grin adorns itself on her face.

"Why Praetor, you are not jealous are you?"

Now I'm the one that blinks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Her grin intensifies in its severity. "I thought you were not interested in such an idea?"

I frown, a stoic expression on my face as I weigh my words carefully in order to avoid misinterpretation.

Shrugging, I begin to try and alter the course of the conversation. "What's so great about a harem anyway?"

Saber gasps, a response that I find rather hyperbolic. "Praetor … are you not a man?"

There are so many possible ways for me to properly reply to that. I don't even know where to begin. So I settle for the safe route. The cute little sarcastic remark route. "No, I'm secretly a twelve-year-old little girl at heart." I wink at Saber in what I hope comes across as immensely creepy.

Judging by the shudder that runs through her I'll assume I succeeded in my goal.

"Praetor, never speak in that tone of voice again."

I blow a raspberry at her. "Aww, but I reeeaaalllyyy like pwetty ponies and playing with my dollies!"

The blood drains from her face. "What's a matta big sis? Ya look like ya saw a spooky ghosty!" Ok, I officially have no idea where I'm going with this. Seriously need to work on my impersonation of children, I sound more like a patronizing mobster than a young girl. Which … to be honest isn't that far from the truth.

I chuckle at Saber as I clap her on the back. "There, there. I promise never to do that again." More for my own sake than hers. My throat's aching from my attempts at a falsetto pitch.

"Pwomise?" Saber puts on a puppy dog act. We're talking the whole nine yards. Tears in her eyes? Check. Eyelashes fluttering? Check. Quivering lip? Checkamundo. I feel a slight pang of guilt strike me at my very core. It's a momentary feeling that washes away as suddenly as it comes.

Still, I can't help but feel out of my element here. Part of me wants to call her out and just smack her in the forehead. Part of me wants to give into her and 'pwomise' that I won't be a bad boy anymore. Guess which part wins out?

"What was that for, Praetor?!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! You're a Heroic Spirit dammit! Act like one!"

"I was merely copying the ridiculous ruse you were using against my own sensibilities."

"So now you admit to plagiarizing?!"

"What?! How dare you suggest such a thing! I am no thief!"

"You just admitted to doing just that?!"

"So you feel you have sole ownership of such an act?! Are you a fool or just out of your mind?!"

"Maybe a little of both! What's your excuse?!"

She crosses her arms and looks away from me, the expression on her face telling me that she's very displeased with me. "At least I understand the heart."

What does that even mean? I feel a sudden craving for a cigarette upon hearing such a tremendously simpleminded statement. Of course, I'm all out of those lovely cancer sticks. All thanks to Saber getting her panties in a twist. Seriously, I only blew one cloud of smoke in her face and she goes and rips the entire carton from my hands. Who the hell does that? I'm also all out of the heavier stuff. All of my alcohol was in my house. She destroyed my house. It doesn't take rocket science to deduce what happened to my stash. And without money I was without any luck. My itches could not be scratched. I could not enjoy the simple vices available to me. All thanks to this little shit.

"Listen, for the past few hours I've been trying my best to forgive you for all the ways you've screwed me over in the past few days. I've been trying. Really. Really hard." I grab the woman by her shoulders and start shaking her up and down.

"But you've been rambling about the same shit for the past three hours! Can't you just take a hint?! I don't give a damn about harems, or love, or beauty, or any of that inane bullshit you blabber on about!"

"Then what do you give a damn about?!"

There's a fire in her eyes, one that tells me I've gone too far.

I back down, taking a step away from my enraged partner in order to rethink my way of going about this. A groan sounding off in the distance buys me some time.

My response to that pained noise is a low whistle. "Jeez, that guy's made of some tough stuff." I'm giving him a little too much credit to be honest. It's probably been like a good hour since I curb stomped him. Who am I talking about? Well that's simple. The lone yakuza that stood against my charge. The one who's currently the only one getting back up while his colleagues remain collapsed on the ground.

"Gimme a sec." I ignore Saber's protests as I walk back towards the man. A leaf flutters by my face. Without thinking I grab it and pour prana through its veins. It becomes a small index card. Or perhaps a more accurate term would be 'business' card, on account of the information listed on it.

"Here." I hand it to the guy as he continues trying to steady himself. He tenses once he notices who I am. I don't give him the chance to retaliate, instead I just shove the card into his shirt pocket and take a step back after giving it a soft pat. "If you're interested in working for someone halfway competent you'll find my boys at the southeastern docks."

He doesn't respond, instead gasping in shock at what I've said. I can practically feel his jaw hit the ground. I toss the AK to him. "You're going to need this." He catches it with ease, eying the weapon for any possible damage. I'd reinserted the magazine and everything, in preparation for having to return it. My response is a halfhearted nod of respect. Sweet.

Upon making my way back to Saber I gesture to the guy with my thumb. "You want to know what I give a damn about? It's quite simple. Guns, gold, and guts."

She ponders that for a moment. "Guns, gold, and guts?" Then she tosses the statement back at me, this time turning it into a question with the inflection of her tone.

"Guns for shooting. Gold for funding that shooting. And guts for having the mettle to do that shooting."

She frowns at me. "Are you truly that simple-minded, Praetor?"

I reply with a cocky grin proudly plastered on my face. "Could I not say the same about you? Your main focus in life is beauty. Mine is firearms."

My words draw an understanding out of her. Comprehension dawns on her face, and her shoulders tense up as she realizes the implication of my words.

"We are alike. Both of us share a one-tract mind."

She states it without me needing to guide her.

"Aye. You believe everything originates from beauty. I believe it originates from guns."

"Then explain how things existed without them? What of the past?"

"What of it? Everything is history was an arms race towards firearms. Were bows not primitive guns? And spears? Were they not the rifles of their time?"

"Praetor, I do not understand what you are suggesting."

"Simple. Mankind has had a constant struggle to perfecting the art of war. Firearms have granted us that. Therefore, everything we are, everything we will be, is defined by the guns we make."

She looks my eyes, and from the manner in which hers widen I can tell she's seen exactly what I want her to see, conviction. Honest to God conviction.

"Is war not ugly to you?"

"It isn't." I sigh. "Let us walk, it'd be better to make our way to our next destination while speaking. Educating you will take time after all."

She bites her lip at the phrase 'educating', likely because I'm coming across as condescending. It's a fair reaction. Normally I would spend time preaching to her on the glory of guns. Kiara showed me quite a few means in which I could convert someone to my perspective of life. Is that cult indoctrination? Nah. I prefer the term 'cultural enrichment'.

We start walking away from Taiga's compound, crossing the street and making our way northward, aimlessly walking forward in the direction we assume the mansion to be in.

"You said you wanted to protect this city from the war, did you not Praetor?"

"This is true. But I can't rightfully do that without causing destruction of my own can I?"

I walk side by side with her, to show that I value her as an equal in this discussion.

"Perhaps, but I can trust you will seek to avoid civilian casualties."

I can't help but smirk. "Can you now?"

She stops walking, dragging behind as I continue on ahead without her.

"Praetor. We will not harm civilians." She practically spits these words at me with such venom that I can't help but flinch.

My answer comes when I stop in my tracks. "Have we not already?"

I wheel around to face her, looking her straight in the eyes as I begin to clarify.

"Our mere existence endangers innocents."

"I do not know what you–"

"Without a Master there can be no Servants. Without Servants there can be no war. The ethical thing to do would be to order you to commit suicide."

Saber turns white. "You would do such a thing?"

I snort in amusement. "Never."

That sets her at ease, instantly causing her to regain her confident pose. "Then why–"

"Simple." I say while wagging a finger at her. "To prove a point."

My hands open up in front of me like a priest about to start his sermon. "War has no place for ethics. All that matters are power, the finances to support that power, and the courage to use it."

"And this is why I hold men that espouse that ideal in high regard. The mafia knew what power meant. They knew how important loyalty was to keeping that power. They knew that it was necessary to enforce it." My gaze goes forlorn as I cast my vision into the distance. Not to look at the buildings and the sights in front of me, but to seek something that's long been lost.

"But they lost sight of that, and began to cannibalize their organization from the inside out becoming selfish cowards without any principles." I'm no longer talking to Saber. I'm merely speaking to myself, reinforcing the convictions that I hold.

"Praetor, what relevance does this have?"

I smile, flashing a toothy grin upon my companion. "Relevance? Well that depends on what we were talking about. I forgot to be honest."

The silence is deafening.

"Was that one of your 'jokes'?" She cuts through it like a hot knife through butter.

"Well, there is a point. Trust me, there is." I hastily assure her, hopefully dissuading her from believing me to be some mere lunatic. That'd be horribly insulting. I'm not 'mere' anything. "Just try and look at it from my perspective. In time, you'll understand."

She crosses her arms over her chest, a posture I've come to expect from her. "It sounds like you are avoiding the original question."

Sheepishly, I scratch the back of my head. "Does it now? Now why would that be the case?" Slowly, I make my way away from her, backing away so I'm out of arms' reach.

"This conversation has been immensely unproductive. You have been talking in vague philosophical verbiage. And while I do enjoy philosophy, now is not particularly a proper time to indulge in such an art." She steps closer to me, instantly overtaking any distance I've put between us. "So, it seems I must reiterate my point. We will not be harming civilians in the forthcoming battles."

"Oh?" I grin devilishly at her assertion, amused at the sheer strength of conviction behind her words. "You have a soft spot for the innocent?"

She nods, deliberately and with a great deal of caution she replies. "There is not beauty in needless death. Especially if it were to happen to those with no stake in the matters at hand."

I shrug nonchalantly, a seemingly uncaring reaction to the emotion in her tone. "Seems you're lucky I wanted to be a sniper when I was a kid."

With that I turn around and walk away, ignoring the baffled expression on her face.

"You see Saber; I tie bravery to bearing arms for one simple reason." I turn to look her in the eyes, the intensity of my gaze meeting the shock in her own. "It takes nothing to pick up a gun to take a life. Not much thought at all." I take a moment to steel myself for the words I'm about to utter, taking a deep breath and shaking away any uncertainty I might feel inside. "But it takes everything to pick up a gun to save one. That's a sacrifice only the best men make." I take great pleasure in the smorgasbord of emotions that flare across her features.

"Now, with that necessary morale booster out of the way, let's get a move on! I wanna see if we can get back before they finish unloading." The moving crew is known for their speed in making deliveries. In fact, it's probably a hopeless endeavor to attempt to make it back before they're done. But I'm going to try to do it anyway.

By walking of course. Running is only good for shitty anime openings and training montages from the 80s. Right now I'm in neither of those things. Thankfully.

"Praetor?"

"Yes, Saber?"

"Do you not know the way home?"

"No. I figured you did."

An uncomfortable silence washes over us.

"Saber?"

"Yes, Praetor?"

"On second thought, forget the moving crew. I'm going to go get a drink."

"A drink?"

"Yes, the alcoholic kind. I need to drown my sorrows."

"That sounds rather … unhealthy."

I snort in amusement. "This is coming from the Roman. Weren't you guys bigtime bulimics?"

"Yes? Is there something wrong with wanting to eat more food?"

She's missing the worst part of that equation. In order to eat more food they had to vomit out their previous meal. How can Miss Beauty Queen not find that disgusting?

"In fact, I would argue that food is something you need more of. You look as if you have not had a warm meal in ages." Way to make a guy feel self-conscious.

I point in the general direction we came from when walking towards Taiga's place. "We came from that direction, which means we just have to walk back that direction to get home." I'm actually lying a little here. The direction I'm pointing at is to the northeast. We came from the northwest. But the northeastern portion of this city has a far nicer bar that I'd like to drop by.

Saber completely ignores my statement; instead she continues mumbling to herself. Likely regarding some flaw she's recognized in my appearance.

Suddenly, she snaps her fingers and points at me, her entire body shakes from the abruptness of her movements. Especially those fat glands on her chest, those shake quite a lot.

"I got it! I will make you a meal, one to surpass anything ever made in the history of cuisine!"

She nods to herself, confirming her course of action without regarding my opinion in the matter. "Yes, after all they do call it the culinary 'arts'. And as the greatest artist in history I cannot help but test out a new medium at every chance!" She does a fist pump, and I can see the fires of passion dance in her eyes. I can't help but feel like I'm going to end up being the one burned by this.

"So … I'm going to the bar now. I'll see you later." With that I wave to her and walk away from the psychopath currently listing half a dozen ways to make a soufflé. Looks like I'm going to have to block the Food Network channel. And perhaps also assassinate Anthony Bourdain. Maybe 'assassinate' is a harsh term. How about 'temporarily dispose of'? That sounds much more civil.

"Praetor? Where are you going? Wait for me!"

You know how I said I wasn't into running? My outlook has changed. Right now I'm sprinting to the nearest pub like a madman. If I get there fast enough I might be able to drink a few shots. That'll at least make me tipsy enough to have a more positive perspective on my current predicament.

"I have a wondrous idea, Praetor! When we return you could start the main course while I work on the side dishes and the dessert. Does that not sound enjoyable?" Her response from me is a loud gasp as I attempt to inhale the proper amount of oxygen to support my dash towards salvation.

"And afterwards I can paint a portrait of you. It has been some time since I have been able to use a man as a model for my art. While your physique is lacking in some regards, it would still be an interesting experience for the both of us." Ok, even I have to admit that having my own personal commissioned self-portrait does sound cool. "And of course you would have to be nude during this. After all, the human body is best viewed in all its bare glory. That is when it is in its purest form."

"Nope, change of plans, I'm just getting plastered." Seems I accidentally said that aloud. Damn.

"That seems quite irresponsible, Praetor. What of the war?" What of the war? Lady, you're the one who's planning how to go about working on your hobbies! What of the war?! Where does this war have any place for an art project? I'm just trying to ease my stress levels. I'm not going to drink just to enjoy myself; I'm doing it for a legitimate reason. Managing stress is an important part in any combat unit after all.

"Praetor, I believe we are going in the wrong way. Was not the mansion in the other direct?"

Too late, I'm not listening to you anymore. Because rights then I finally arrive at the bar I've been looking for. Or rather, the coffee shop I was looking for that happens to have cheap liquor.

"Welcome to Ahnenerbe! Would you like to hear our daily specials?"

I push my way past the cheery redhead without nary a second glance. "Beat it, Bikini."

"Praetor?" I ignore Saber's entrance and run up to the bar, slamming my hands down on the wood countertop to get the attention of the girl manning it.

"Yo, Chickamauga, get me the best bottle of scotch pronto."

The green-haired vixen behind the counter frowns deeply upon recognizing me. "Oh … it's you. Haven't I already told you to stop calling me that?"

I wave away her minor protest. "Yeah, yeah, hurry up Chimichanga. I don't have all day."

Ah, the following reaction brings me to the explanation as to why I chose this place. Well ... it's **one** of the two reasons I chose this place. It's quite an obvious reason. It's so easy to pick on this girl.

Her eye twitches. It twitches of all things. But, like a good restaurant worker, she obliges my request without a single word, despite how she's clearly holding back her tongue.

"Praetor, why are we here?" Saber plops into the stool next to me, her brow raised in a questioning manner.

"Simple." I point to the vast array of bottles behind the bar.

"This is the best place in town to get genuine Italian spirits."

That is the other reason.

The twinkling in her eyes warms my very heart.

* * *

 **AN: First of all I'm going to just go ahead and toss in this shameless plug:** **forums .spacebattles threads /21st-century -schizoid-man-fate- au-with- oc-master. 496022/**

 **Apologies for the spaces, fanfiction seems to be of the opinion that ALL links are spam that must be censored. Now, I feel I should explain what that link is to (if it isn't obvious enough). Basically I posted this story on Spacebattles. So alternatively to using that neutered link you can also just search for this story on that site. I'm not going to be posting chapters early on there or anything like that, but I felt that it'd be kind of cool to have a direct line of communication with you all. Plus it can potential end up increasing the amount of people that see this, thus increasing the amount of feedback I get. And you guys know how I (and every writer worth their salt) just love feedback! I'll be able to reply much faster on their than on here so go ahead and send and questions, comments, or concerns that away if you don't want to wait two weeks or more for a response XD. Now, with that out of the way, let's get to my responses for this latest round of reviews!**

 **Big thanks to you guys! We managed to break a record! Eight reviews for one chapter?! Sweet! Of course that does mean this'll be the longest AN yet... for better or worse.**

 **Anthem of the Night: Speaking of your Avenger: you didn't abandon that story did you? It was an interesting concept, and I'll be a tad disappointed if you've given up on it. I sincerely hope I did justice to Taiga's character in this chapter. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess your imagination of Saber's reaction was probably ten times better than what actually ended up happening (on account of me actively working at toning down the ridiculousness of that scene). Right now I'm walking on eggshells with how I write Taiga, as I'm not completely sure of how I'm going to write her. I'm trying my best to combine how she was in Stay Night with the badass version of her that's a Lancer in Grand Order. Trust me though, the shenanigans this trio are going to get into will blow your mind. When Kiara, Rin, and Bathory get added in the equation it's going to make you think you're on an acid trip every time you read a chapter :D. At least that's my goal XD.**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: Correctomundo! This Taiga is essentially how I'd imagine the Grand Order Taiga would be if she weren't inhabited by Jaguar Man. Leo's going to be a major player in all this, but Taiga's going to really just reclaim the role she had in Stay Night. Comic relief for the win!**

 **Synthetic Knight: Thanks! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!**

 **matrience: No problemo! Thanks for the review!**

 **King0fP0wers: You know, I might have gone a little overboard with Nero's response in the last chapter. In my defense, it was all in the pursuit of comedic gold! It probably would have been less out of character for her if I'd gone and added in more detail as to exactly how disgusting Dante's living arrangements were. You ever see the TV show "Hoarders"? Yeah, Dante could have been a recurring guest on that show. Well... I can definitely confirm he's not Rider. So... by process of elimination you can answer that question for yourself. *Cough I'm copying Gilgamesh's role cough*.**

 **Who's to say I'm going to make him a Master? Mwahahahaha! I like the idea of him summoning a Caster, though. To be honest, I really debated over whether or not I was going to use Tamamo or Nero when writing GEGE (and of course this story). I ended up choosing Nero just because her personality clashes with Dante's more.**

 **Tomster627: Well, since we never actually saw Dante struggle through blood, sweat, and tears to earn that money it does take away some of the pity I'd feel for him. Plus he's like less than thirty in this story. He's being lazy in trying to retire so young XD. He's definitely going to pay Nero back throughout this story, and she'll get him good a few times as well. It's going to be like Tom and Jerry trying to work together!**

 **SilverstormXD: Hmm, I'm guessing you mean the show/comic Constantine and not the Emperor, correct? I can't say I've looked into it, though from what I've heard the character sounds really cool. From what I can tell he's a sort of anti-hero himself? In which case I can definitely see how Dante is similar to him!**

 **Guest: You have a point there. That voice just contradicts everything Nero's done so far, lol. My God if that's the case I might rethink his class! Er... but I already planned out how it's going to go down so I kind of can't. I'm going to look into that though and see if I can toss in some mention/reference to that regardless. It's too glorious to let slide! Ha ha ha. No. Those gun-blades are not awesome! They look retarded! Emiya Alter looks retarded! Why the hell did Shirou go all reverse-Michael Jackson! How did that even happen?! And what are the odds that Nasu would create a Emiya Alter that's an Alter because he loved Kiara and is proficient with guns! I feel like a lawsuit is in order! :P All jokes aside, I like that idea. I really do. But I feel like it'd be too convenient for him to encounter Kanshou and Bakuya like that. I was thinking more along the lines of him morphing other famous legendary weaponry into guns to use. We're talking everything from Noble Phantasms to notorious firearms that went down in history *cough the Carcano rifle used to assassinate JFK cough* Boy, I seem to be getting a really bad cold! I also have plans in the works for Emiya Alter. Not in this story but in a possible sequel/prequel/spin-off. Hear this, Stay Night where instead of Sasaki as the Fake Assassin Medea summons Emiya Alter as the Fake Archer?**


	8. Alabama Song

**Disclaimer: You know how I said in the last chapter it was the longest chapter of this story? Well, not any more! This is technically the longest chapter I've written. Period. Mainly because it starts off with what could be considered an omake scene starring King Keith's OC and his Servant, Miss Daddy Issues Incarnate, Mordred. Hence the POV shift to Keith's OC, that's actually something he whipped up for me that I edited to my liking.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8- Alabama Song**

"That's it! Get out of here right now or I'll call the police!" Boy I haven't heard those words in quite some time. Sure is music to my ears. Currently I have a blushing green-haired schoolgirl screaming right in my face. She's not blushing because she's embarrassed or anything like that, rather it's because she's so furious the blood has rushed straight to her cheeks. At least that's what I hope is the case. Can't tell with tsunderes, they're basically a whole 'nother species of human.

I don't particularly enjoy having an adolescent girl yell in my face. Nor do I enjoy having her index finger practically poking my eye out with how animatedly she jabs it in my direction. Her friend, the one I refer to as Bikini, the redhead is trying to pull her away from me before I'm maimed. Or is she doing it to avoid her friend's untimely demise at my hands? As aforementioned hands are currently flailing around helplessly in an attempt to wring this arrogant little shit's neck. Why are they flailing around helplessly? Simple. Saber's currently pulling me away with all her strength to help me avoid committing murder in the first degree. How thoughtful of her.

"You spit in my face you brat! That's assault!" The sound that comes out of my mouth sounds like a jumbled mishmash of words. This is because I too am currently flushed red in the face on account of my slight intoxication as well as the sheer vitriol coursing through my veins. "When I get my hands on you you'll wish–" Crunch. How did this girl learn reinforcement Magecraft?

That's the only thought that goes through my head when her heel comes down on my foot. It feels like an elephant stomping upon my appendage, this girl weighs far more than she should. I tell that to her face. Well … I try to. But, since I currently am experiencing a level of pain that transcends the Nine Circles of Hell themselves, my sentence structure comes out a little … incoherent.

"You mudda fuken sunovabidch fadazz liddle shet! I'll keel you bich!" I think I just created an entirely new dialect in the English language, it's a byproduct of my inability to enunciate properly. Which is a byproduct of me biting my own tongue to avoid wailing out in agony.

"Shush, Praetor. You are making a scene." Saber tries to pull me away, hoping to get me away from the brawl that will likely start if I'm to be left alone to my own devices.

"How wud you feel ef a liddle shet ded dis to you?!" I round about on my only ally in this situation. Such is my righteous anger, it completely overwhelms any logic I might have once been compelled to follow.

"Praetor, I am afraid I cannot comprehend this language you are speaking. Strange, I was sure the Grail was more than capable of translating the tongue of foreigners." She ponders this new predicament while I start to wiggle my way from her grasp.

It becomes apparent that this is useless. Why? Well because kawaii Captain Planet (What? They both have green hair?) manages to break away from Bikini before me. Of course this can spell nothing but my doom. Her freedom can mean nothing but danger towards my well-being. Every individual nerve in my body screams out to be saved at the incoming pain I'm about feel. Even in my addled mindset my survival instincts cry out for mercy at the hands of the devil that's likely to be upon me in a mere moment.

The reaper has no mercy. It has no compassion. No empathy. I'm cut down with a single blow, incapacitated without a moment's notice. Truly this girl with her Ectoplasm colored hair is a warrior of the finest caliber. So this is the blood of the samurai that runs through these people's veins? I thought it was only Taiga. Guess that's not the case. How terrifying.

"Wwwhhhyyy?! Why do they always go for the balls?!" I'm now on the floor in the fetal position, crying out to an unforgiving world, begging to be saved from the misery that's been unjustly inflicted on me. "I won't take this for granted! I'm going to go Al-Qaeda on your animu ass when I get back up!"

Apparently this odd threat causes her to take me seriously. By seriously I mean she attempts to eradicate my soul from this plain of existence. She does this by trying to kick me in the mouth. I suppose she thought it would silence me. Fool! You cannot silence the voice of truth!

Saber spares me that suffering, blocking the girl's blow by just moving her leg in front of my unprotected head. Interestingly enough this gives me a perfect view at what she's wearing underneath that ridiculous dress. Huh, who knew it was actually a leotard? That's kinda cool to be honest, she's like a ballerina or some shit. Does this also mean she's not a complete pervert? I think it does.

"Praetor, why did you have to start this senseless fighting?" Excuse me? It's not my fault she wanted to stop serving me after only two bottles! What ever happened to customer service? I didn't know this was the Walmart of coffee shops!

"He did it because he's a Neanderthal. A spoiled brat that throws a hissy fit when he can't get his way! If George didn't like him he'd be banned from here at least a dozen times over!"

"Oi, who asked you moss head?! You're just a part-timer, no one gives a shit about your opinions!"

Her redheaded friend pouts at me, clearly dissatisfied. "It's not nice to bully Katsuragi-chan. Even if she is kind of a bully herself."

The 'bully' reels back as if struck, flinching at the traitorous nature of her friend's statement. "H-e-e-y! You're supposed to back me up Hibiki!"

I bust out in a fit of laughter, enjoying the betrayed look on my nemesis's face. "For shame, dear Chimichanga. You seem to be unable to understand the treasure that is friendship!"

At this I chuck an empty bottle of brandy straight at her head. "Allow me to pound that lesson into your thick skull you damned tsundere bitch!"

"Isn't this supposed to be a café?" A sudden stranger asks as he steps in. It interrupts the savage display of brutality I was just about to unleash on this poor girl's being. Instinctively, I freeze up, caught off guard by the new voice. Well … that's what I'd like to say happens. Really Saber just holds me back once again. Except this time she lifts me up, with relatively little effort mind you, and holds me a foot from the floor so I can't wiggle my way out.

We're not alone in this place. There's a few other patrons scattered around, but none of them bothered to comment on the situation. This isn't exactly a common sight for sure, but nor is it uncommon enough for them to raise a fit over it. Which means this man is truly a noob in regards to the 'interactions' I have with Chi-Chi.

He has red hair, perhaps the simple color 'red' doesn't do the shade justice. Maroon is a better word for the dark red color of his scalp. For some reason my 'evil redhead sense' is tingling. He seems to be holding in a laugh as he observes the situation. Behind him is a girl that is quite like Saber. Except instead of being gifted with the emerald irises Saber has, she has ruby colored ones. Not at all unlike the crimson hair of the man.

I cut off my retribution focused train of thought as Saber drops me. Literally drops me, to walk towards the girl with a similar appearance. She even goes so far as to push the man out of the way, practically trampling him in her urge to meet her lookalike.

"Could you be a fan?" Saber asks with puppy dog eyes. Judging from the distaste in her eyes, the girl does not seem amused.

"Ugh, I'm too hungry for this shit." The girl snorts as she moves toward my seat and plops down. While on the way there she steps on my uninjured foot. I hold in a groan of pain, idly noting that the man with red hair passes me a sympathetic look before he sits right next to her. Did he just ignore the situation he walked in?

"Welcome!" Bikini says as the man nods her way. He and the girl look over their menus briefly before ordering. His choice for a meal ends up being somewhat disappointing, as it is relatively small in size. Meanwhile his companion orders nearly triple the amount! Where the hell is she going to put all that?!

"How long are you going to stay on the ground? Get out!" Mean Green says as she hold a broom at me. Pssh. As if that could ever be enough to defeat me! What does she think I am? A dust bunny?

Before the broom can even touch me, the man grabs the handle.

"May I ask why you are abusing this poor man? Don't you see how much pain he is in?" He says this as he looks at Bikini. Not even bothering to turn his head to acknowledge the greenette. "Where is your manager? I would like to file a complaint."

Needless to say the Incredible Hulk immediately backs off. Bowing deeply like a submissive little shit. Sunny D (Bikini was getting overused) visibly appears to give zero fucks about the man's threat. That is, if her face of utter stoicism is anything to go by. Regardless, the man seems appeased by the bowing and waves aside my assailant's apologies.

After venturing to the nearby seat, I give a questioning glace to him, while Saber looks at the girl, miffed at being ignored. "What do you want?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you want? For saving my ass?"

"Nothing." He smiles. The look wouldn't have appeared more out of place on a gorilla. Such is the contradicting kindness in his expression. Seriously, the tone of his voice ten seconds ago could have instilled the fear of God in someone. And now he's just ignoring that and smiling like a goofball. "I was going to save you earlier but, well, I was too surprised at that green-haired girl's actions to help."

"…. How long were you watching?"

"A few minutes before you got kicked in the balls. Quite amusing you are. You remind me of a childhood friend of mine."

"Dick."

"That's what she said." the redhead sneers.

I stare him over, my eyes taking in every detail of his face, before allowing a soft snicker to emanate from my mouth. "I suppose it is." Something of an understanding passes between us, a slight appreciation for the similar sense of humor we both share. And then it's shattered. By who? Saber, of course.

"If you are not a fan what are you? An impostor?" Her brow furrows in dissatisfaction. "Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, but there comes a time in which it becomes obnoxious." Says the Queen of Provocation herself. "In fact, I would argue that you are plagiarizing my style, and thievery of that sort is the biggest insult an artist can face. Even worse than mockery." She crosses her arms, which to me says two things. The first "she means business". The second "uh oh".

The slimmer blonde in front of her sighs, clearly unimpressed with the intense accusations Saber threw her way. She leans the side of her head against her propped up fist. "Are you finished?"

Saber frowns, and for a moment I fear a fight might break out. But that moment passes, as that frown morphs into a pout. "A mere copy will never be as valuable as the original."

The air itself grows still, as the comrade of my redheaded friend tenses up considerably. "What did you say?" She spits these words out through grit teeth. Clearly Saber's gone and committed some sort of faux pas. Great going, genius.

"Hey, you want to stop this from getting any worse?" I turn back towards the redhead, with a look that tells him my answer. Two words. "Hell no."

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and stands up. I assume he's going to stop this from getting any worse. He proves that assumption wrong with the next sentence he utters.

"Well, I'm going to go get us some drinks!" He then proceeds to run off, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Bastard.

As soon as he's gone his knockoff Saber slams her fists on the table. And … it breaks in half, splintering into two pieces that comically stand upright before falling to the side. As if it took the table a moment to realize it'd just been destroyed.

You know, here's one of those moments in which you're supposed to take one for the team. A good guy would save Saber's ass by drawing her doppelganger's attention onto himself. They'd then talk them both down with some charismatic wordplay and a few light compliments tossed in to flatter the opposition. I'm not a good guy.

"Girls, girls, if you must know you're both pretty. Now kiss and make up." I raise a finger into the air, the universal signal for 'wait a second'. "But give me a moment to find myself a camera. Can't let such a sight be forgotten." I don't even get a chance to smirk. A fist instantly plows into my face.

I'm sent soaring out of my seat, landing hard against the bar. I don't see much of the flight, one second I'm in my seat, the next I'm laying on top of the bar's counter. Did I black out briefly? As if to add salt to the wounds the Green Midget starts smacking me with her broom. Oh, and it sounds like someone's choking on their drink. Weird.

I grab the broom coming down on my head, pulling it away from the girl who's assaulting me with it. I then proceed to snap it in half. A content sigh escapes my lips. "Pesci, that felt good." And it did, in fact I'd say it felt cathartic even.

My pleasure lasts all of three seconds, because Chicken McNugget then starts a game of whack-a-mole with my face. Where on Earth did she get a mallet that big? That punch didn't toss me into Donkey Kong, did it?

You know how most cats don't like being sprayed with water? And how they run like a bat out of hell the second liquid touches them? Well, for all you cat owners out there, just picture what your pet looks like when it's running like a little bitch. Now overlap that picture with whatever image you have created for me and voila. I look very much like a cat running from water right now. But instead of water I'm running from a giant hammer that looks like it was stolen from Thor himself.

I rush past a small group of patrons gathered around. Bastards must be enjoying their dinner and a show. Wait … they're not facing in my direction?

I shove them out of the way and use my momentum from running to start a baseball slide the likes of which haven't been seen in Yankee Stadium for a good decade or so. The Green Goblin's Coconut Crusher whizzes right past my head, but it doesn't make contact with my poor squishy self.

I'm quite happy to blow a raspberry at my would-be butcherer. All my joy leaves me once I realize where I am and what the crowd was looking at. Saber and her look alike. Arm-wrestling?

Well, that's what I presume they were doing up until I skidded underneath their table and right between her clone's legs. Immediately the entire joint goes still. Everyone just freezes in place as they process what I just did. Then … they all scatter. Like ants fleeing from a flood. Even Chattanooga dives behind the bar, her hammer discarded in order to allow her to pull off the maneuver.

I look up from underneath the table, afraid of the calamity I might have just created. She's looking down on me, Saber's copycat that is. Her face bright red like a cherry, her fists clenched, steam seems to be blowing out of her ears. She stands up from her seat, towering above me despite being almost as short as Saber.

"Saber. Help. Please." Saber looks to me. She looks to her forgery. Then she looks back to me. She pouts, and her hands go to her hips. Sonofa–!

"Ah, Praetor, how considerate of you to show up. Inform this imitator she is nothing more than a candle before the radiance of my sun!"

"Read the mood, jackass!" I snarl at her. Not at all concerned about the harshness of my tone.

"Wow, what a dick." I hear at least one member of the peanut gallery pipe in.

Saber … well, she reacts as if she's just had an allergic reaction. By this I mean she starts spazzing out like a retard. Tears flow freely from her eyes as she starts wailing like a spoiled child. "Praetor! This, this, flat-chested charlatan dared to steal my appearance! This is UNACCEPTABLE!" Lemon Grab? Is that you?

"She has sullied my image, and, and, and …." She calms down, blinks, and finally notices my position. That being right between the legs of her 'rival'. "Oh, good on you Praetor. You have already begun the counterattack." She smiles. "I was planning on humiliating her in a simple game of strength. But this? This would be sufficient."

I clam up, hoping above all else that she's not implying what I think she is …. "Those clothes are an insult to my eyes. I would never wear them, and it would be the greatest of insults if my loyal subjects were to mistake her for me while she is wearing that." She poses dramatically, not at all concerned about the tangible killing intent radiating from the subject of her rant. "Therefore, we shall rebalance the scales! If she is to copy my beauty she shall go all the way!" And she does something that makes me wish, above all else that I could spontaneously combust.

"Pardon me. While I burst. Into flames." I smack my head against the table, hoping above all else that I can knock myself out. For what Saber shows me is even worse than I could have imagined. Somehow, somehow, she has managed to recreate her dress to the tee. And she's happily waving it in her imposter's face.

"You won't get me in that. Not on your life."

The girl I'm underneath starts cracking her knuckles, clearly preparing herself for the mutilation she'll inflict upon me. Why the hell has she focused her anger upon me?! Go after the lunatic that thinks turning you into her own personal Barbie doll is a good idea?! "Elmo! Help!" Complete, utter silence. I can swear I hear a pin drop.

"Uh, are you talking about me?" What I can only assume to be the girl's ginger handler questions, probably while scratching his head or pointing at his chest in confusion if the tone of his voice is any indication.

"You're the one that brought her here! Control your pets!" Oh … that wasn't the best thing to say. If she was angry before, now she's gone absolute Super Saiyan in her rage, crossing her arms over her chest and grinding her teeth against each other. She raises a leg, in what I can only assume is her impersonation of Chi-chi-chi-Chia pet's attempt on my life from roughly three minutes ago.

"Objection!" I scream this at a volume I'm hoping will stun her. It doesn't really work, merely causing her to hesitate for a millisecond. A millisecond is all I need.

Before she can even comprehend how, her pants are at her ankles and I'm gone. "Saber, I did half the job for you! Go wild!" I don't even stay long enough to comprehend the mock salute Saber gives me in affirmation. A cloud of dust is left behind me in my hasty departure. The few patrons left in this establishment, the ones that didn't flee in mortal terror, take this opportunity to pull out their phones. Then, like tourists, they start snapping pictures of the scene. Unfortunately for the girl this is a popular locale for middle-aged men. Mainly because of how the two waitresses are cute high school aged schoolgirls. Japan, man. Japan.

I can only assume this girl's panties are going to be plastered on every social media site that's ever existed. These bastards will probably even dig up Myspace from the shallow grave it's been buried in so they can post it there. Stores will be out Kleenex for days, if not weeks. I've just simultaneously ruined her life while and made her a cultural icon. I'm not sure if asking for a 'thank you' would be the proper thing to do in this situation. I have a better idea, though, a distraction.

"Kill all of them, not me!" I sell out my fellow men without a second thought, labeling them all under the same perverse banner they've been stupid enough to drape themselves in. "I respect your right to be a strong independent woman! They seek to turn you into an object of self-gratification!" Ok, I'm beyond bullshitting now. Maybe it's the adrenaline talking. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe some long antiquated survival instinct has arisen in the hopes of somehow saving my life. Or maybe I've just blown a gasket from the head trauma inflicted on me, a concussion is probably the only explanation for why I'd spout out such a thing.

Unfortunately instead of buying myself some brownie points I seem to have made things worse. The girl stops focusing on the men documenting her ascension into the glories of public indecency and instead locks her sights dead on me. Do you know how surreal it is to be chased by a tomboyish version of Saber that's in their tidy whities? All while Saber is chasing after her as well, screaming for her to take her to off so she can be, and I quote, "a complete rendition of my glory".

Do you have any idea how sexually confused I'm going to be in the long run from this encounter? I'm going to have to rethink me entire moral standpoint on life because of this. It's scarred me to that extent. I'm throttled. Of course I'm throttled. I expected that. Well … I didn't really, but I figured it was a possibility. What I didn't figure was how easily she'd catch me. I thought I could pull the Tom and Jerry act for a good five minutes, perhaps tire her out. I was wrong. She has to be supernatural in origin. Quite possible a Servant like Saber. Hopefully that's not the case. I really, **really** , don't want to ever meet her again in the remainder of my, likely shortened, lifespan.

I have to say it was kind of impressive how she managed to choke me out using my own tongue. That's some CIA level shit right there. And she managed to do it all before Saber caught up to her. All hell broke loose the moment those two clashed, and I barely manage to even escape. The only way I was able of surviving was through sheer ingenuity. They wouldn't dare come in the men's restroom. They're chicks. No way they'd–

Oh fuck. Scratch that. Running again! One of them, I'm guessing it was the fake because she was only half wearing her dress, charged in the place. I don't even question whether she's trying to flee like me, instead immediately assuming she's trying to finish the half-assed job she already started. Seeking a means of avoiding permanent damage, I swing the stall's door straight into her face before dolphin diving beneath her legs and army crawling the rest of the distance needed to clamor out of the bathroom.

I'm almost stepped on by Saber, who's way too eager to finish what she's started. Seeing an opportunity to end this here and now I slam the men's room's door shut behind me. With a liberal application of magic I've essentially sealed the metal door shut. Now, to wait. They'll either have to break through the wall to get out. Or they'll have to set aside their differences, decide to stop the abuse they've inflicted on me, and politely ask me to let them out.

That might take awhile. I've basically just locked two Betta fish in the same tank. They'll probably kill each other. Oh, well. Can't say I didn't try to resolve everything properly. Saber should have just let me bitch slap that green-haired 80s reject.

There's a loud bang in the bathroom, followed by **several** loud bangs. And then a face jumps out at me from the door. "Holy hell!" Looks like Saber actually managed to slam her counterparts face into the door, and in the process she's somehow managed to create actual art. I'm staring at something that looks like it's straight out of Edvard Munch's ensemble. It looks a little like Han Solo's face when he was in carbonite. Except it's in a steel door.

The scuffle continues for about thirty more seconds. Thirty seconds in which every vulgar word in the dictionary is uttered from the flatter girl's mouth. Hey, at least I'm learning something from this experience. I've never heard someone call someone a "so-called artist formally known as a 'bunghole experiment'". That takes the cake for the most random yet unique piece of profanity I've ever had the displeasure of hearing personally.

Anyway, after those thirty seconds there's no more sound. Almost like someone hit 'mute' on whatever was going on behind that closed door. I softly whistle to myself, hoping that the one that exits the place first will be Saber. If it's the other girl I'm going to really be worried about Saber's condition at the moment.

A knock comes from the other side of the door. "Who is it~?" I ask in a singsong voice.

"Ah, Praetor! You are still out there. Wonderful, please open the door." I don't even want a situation report on what's going on. I'm confident that in seeing the remnants of the bathroom I'll have a good idea as to what happened myself. So I open the door, believing above all else that I'll be prepared mentally and emotionally for what I'm going to see.

"Oh Sweet Jesus, what is that godforsaken smell?!" I immediately go to cover my nose, filtering out the rancid stench that's coming from the bathroom. It's so bad I even broke character for a moment there.

"I apologize Praetor, but she was … resistant to the idea of changing her attire." She smiles, and right then and there I remember this is the woman that crucified Christians before burning them alive. "I had to use some 'enhanced interrogation' techniques in order to have her see my way." Translation: I rammed her skull into a porcelain john until I managed to rupture the septic pipes underneath the building.

"Damn, woman, you scary." I believe that about summarizes the entire situation quite accurately.

She laughs the 'compliment' off good-naturedly. "Nonsense, Praetor. I merely did what must be done." She moves to the side and gestures to the room behind her. Ok, yeah, she definitely did a number on this room. And … Pesci I really need a camera right now.

There stands the tomboyish remake of Saber. Wearing the exact same type of dress she wears, albeit shrunken down in order to accommodate her lacking measurements. Saber even went so far as tie the girl's hair in a similar style as her own, except she also decided to pin some ribbon in for good measure. The utter look of defeat on the girl's face causes me to feel immense joy, and confirms that it's entirely possible I'm a sadist. Or perhaps this is just the sweet joyous feeling of comeuppance?

"So, what now?"

Saber shrugs. "I have redeemed her of her transgressions. I hold no grudge over her. Let her rejoin her significant other." The girl bristles at that phrase, flashing bright red in anger and attempting to lunge for Saber's neck. Unfortunately Saber appears to have expected this. She kung fu kicks the girl across the jaw. I'm not even kidding here. She takes her ridiculous high heel and slams it right into the girl's chin, knocking her flat on her ass.

I don't know how to respond so I just sort of walk backwards until I'm out of line of sight. Then I robotically turn around and make my way to the bar.

"I need enough alcohol to make me forget the last twenty-four hours of my life. Can you serve that?"

The orangette girl hiding behind the counter offers a sheepish grin. "Uh, it all was destroyed in the brawl." Cue me smashing my face into the wooden countertop.

"This'll have to do then." I only manage to do this four times before a hand grabs onto the collar of my shirt, stopping me from continuing.

"There's better ways to forget things than that." The voice of the red-haired man reaches my ears, I hadn't noticed him sit next to me at the bar. Figures he'd stick around anticipating his partner's return.

"You wouldn't happen to be a member of the Men in Black, would ya?"

He chuckles softly. "I wish. Those suits of theirs' just reek of class."

I have to suppress the urge to groan. Why did he have to use 'reek' to describe them? That's just bringing back memories of the bathroom. And that is in turn making me want to retch into the nearest bucket.

"Ah, Praetor. There you are. Making friends, are you?"

"I just want a drink. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Praetor, did you not drink enough already? We went through at least three bottles?"

"It's not enough. Not after what I just witnessed. I could empty an entire keg and still come back from more."

"Shouldn't they have barrels in the basement?"

I turn towards the man next to me. "Excuse me?"

"Oh!" A light bulb seems to flicker on above the waitresses' head. "That's right! George keeps a reserve supply down there!" The orange-haired girl rushes off, opening a door behind her and disappearing into the backroom.

"How'd you know?"

The guy I'm addressing shrugs. "Call it a hunch. This is supposed to be an Italian café, right? It'd be almost incomplete without wine in the basement."

"Huh." I offer a halfhearted reply, somewhat disappointed there's not a more interesting answer.

"Master!" Oh shit. Out comes the lightweight version of Saber, and … she's still stuck in the dress.

"How the hell did you get her to stay in it?" I whisper to my compatriot.

She smiles. "Mmm? That's simple, Praetor. Candle wax."

"Candle wax?" I ask, disbelief clearly apparent in my voice.

She nods. "Yes, you would be surprised at what it can be used for. All it takes is a healthy imagination."

"But where the hell did you get–?" I'm cut off by a hearty laughter coming from the right of me. I glance in that direction and immediately realization dawns on my face.

Big Red is on the floor in tears, shaking uncontrollably as he roars in a fit of chuckles. And there's the girl Saber 'dressed' attempting valiantly to step on his head in the hopes of shutting him up.

"A lover's quarrel, perhaps?"

I nod in answer to Saber's question, unable to take my eyes off of the strange sight in front of me. "Perhaps."

"Ah! I found it!" The moment's interrupted by Hibiki. What? She's bringing me booze! The least I can do is refer to her by her name once.

"Thank you Pesci!" I rush to grab the bottle from her, in the hopes of alleviating my ailments with ale. My hand reaches out and grasps onto the stem of the bottle and I pull it towards me. And … another hand grabs it right out of mine, stealing the liquid courage right out of my hands.

"What the hell?!" That's the final straw, I roar into the heavens and proceed to beat my chest like some magnificent gorilla. "You!" I point a single finger accusingly at the girl that's just robbed me. She's succeeded in KOing Gingervitis, and now she's in the process of uncorking my wine. **My** **wine**.

"I've had enough of you! All of you! I'm done!" I fling my hands up, symbolizing exactly how fed up I am with the world. I've been beaten, bloodied, humiliated, and generally forced into an uncomfortable position in the past few hours. And this, this just goes too far. You don't snatch a man's drink out from his hands! That's barbaric!

"Looks like there's only one thing left to do."

Saber blinks, a bemused expression shrouding her face. "Pray tell what that is, Praetor?"

My right hand shoots out from my side, fingers separated in an unmoving jazz hand, while my left goes to my forehead. Pantomiming the action of pulling the brim of a hat over my eyes. If only I had a ridiculously large-brimmed fedora. But, I think this'll do. The King of Pop should be properly satiated with my pose. "I must reclaim my sullied honor." I take immense satisfaction in the way the thief's jaw drops to the floor.

Saber's expression changes into something I never thought I'd see her wear. A rictus grin. It covers her entire being, corrupting her fair 'beauty' with an emotion that'd be more fitting for a character in a Tim Burton film. "Say. Again?" She gulps, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in my demeanor.

"Oh get off it, I would have thought you'd be the type to enjoy such a concept."

"Mmm … those words just do not fit my impression of your … demeanor. Praetor." An emotion that can only be described as adulation. "Could it be that this experience has changed you for the better?"

I can't hold back the laugh. God could strike me down right then and there and I wouldn't be able to stop the chuckle that forces it's way past my lips. "Bwahahaha! Not on your life!" I slap my knee in an exaggerated manner, and wipe a faux tear from the corner of my eye. "If anything you've succeeded in permanently snuffing out the last trace of sanity that's remained in my." I grin darkly at the girl with my wine. My left eye twitching dangerously as I process exactly how I'm going to make her pay. "I just always wanted to say that sort of thing. I'm a little disappointed to be honest." I sigh, all traces of amusement gone as I start frowning. "I'd pictured a gallant knight in shining armor shouting that out in a completely serious tone. Imagined the conviction in his tone, the steel in his eyes." I shrug, wiping away the image from my mind. "Seems I'm no knight. Saying that just made me want to laugh."

The frown leaves my face at the contemplative look Saber's giving me. "Praetor, you are odd."

And it becomes a full-blown smile. "You can say that again, blondie." I pat her on the shoulder. "Now, stay put and watch me get even."

"Hey you!" I point directly at the blonde that steamrolled me not five minutes prior. She's remained unmoving throughout all of this, seemingly frozen in place in shock. Her composure thaws considerably once she realizes I've just called her out. That gaping maw turns into a tight-lipped scowl.

"What the hell do you want?!" Venom laces her words. Obviously she's quite upset with me still.

I waltz over to her, getting far too close for comfort to someone that apparently is more than capable of taking on several grown men at once in a barroom brawl. Then, I do probably the dumbest thing possible. I slap her in the face. With a white glove I made mid-walk upon touching a tablecloth. For added dramatic flair I spit on the floor near her foot. "I, Dante Di Prinzi, Fuyuki's local Lord of War, hereby challenge you to a duel." Complete. Utter. Silence.

Then, the sword comes out. I don't know where she pulled it from. All I can say is she's probably been in prison before. Jail tends to teach you clever ways to hide things on your person. And most of them revolve around some pretty revolting ideas. Either that or this is further evidence to my 'she's a Servant' hypothesis. Crossing my fingers that's not the case.

"You. Wish for a duel?" A cruel laugh emanates from her mouth. "After the suffering your whore has inflicted upon me? I will take great pleasure in this."

With just that single insult she's altered my entire mindset. Originally, I merely desired a game of sorts. One in which I'd show my uncontested superiority in the face of an adversary far better that I. I planned on challenging her in something I knew I would win in. I still planned on doing that, but now it wasn't just in the hopes of playfully spiting her. Now, it was personal. I looked back to Saber, my eyes meeting her own. All the disgrace, the shame, the uncertainty, it fed me. It gave me a goal, a target to crush.

"Hey, Berserker! That's no way to speak to someone you've just met!" Berserker's eyes widen in confusion upon hearing her name uttered by the redheaded man. My eyes widen when I realize he's just called her by a Servant's title. "Jeez." He sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Why do you have to be so damn aggressive? You're like a pit bull, except less cuddly." The sword that's been pointed at me this entire time rearranges itself so it's aimed straight at my would-be defender's chest.

"Who the hell asked you?!" Pesci, this brat's loud. I use my pinky fingers to clog my ears in the hopes of being spared from her volume. The one ear's still not in prime condition quite yet, and I really don't want to damage it further just because this punk's decided her indoor voice has to be a hundred decibels.

I hold up a hand. "Now, now, we're getting sidetracked. I didn't even get a chance to tell you the rules."

A drop of sweat falls from her brow, and she rounds back on me with a grin that could turn a normal man's blood into slush. "Rules?! What rules could there possibly be for a duel?!"

I sigh, seemingly disappointed in her denseness. "First rule: no weapons. We're going to be civilized (for once)." She doesn't drop the sword, instead she points the tip of it at my neck. I give a thumb's down to Saber, as she already starts to materialize her own blade. She shakes her head, apparently detesting my command but following it to the letter regardless of her personal opinion.

"Think of this as an endurance challenge." I tip my chin in the direction of the bar. "We drink. The first to pass out loses."

The girl remains silent, pondering my words. Then, she comes to a decision, the sword going slack in her grip as she moves it away from me. Her grin shifts from cruel to cocky and I can tell she's going to give me a run for my money in this coming fight. "Very well. But only if you're buying."

I raise an eyebrow at her partner, sending him the unasked question. _Should we tell her she's still wearing a dress?_ The cold sweat on his face tells me the distinct answer. _Hell no._

* * *

 **Keith's POV**

"Okay, that could have gone better" I think to myself as I watch Sab– eh, Berserker sneer as she grabs 'Praetor'. That's the name that Servant has given her Master, so I'll just go ahead and role with it. I shake off the water that was splashed on me earlier, thankfully it made me look more terrified then I am. I doubt she would kill me though. But it is still a possibility after all this. At least for now she's more focused on the guy that Jackson fived her with a molesting glove. I stare at Berserker's retreating back …. It acts like a beacon, drawing my sight in without my knowledge.

Perhaps it' a good thing I didn't tell Berserker she is still in the dress. I see crack, like plumber crack. I could insert a coin in that slot literally …. Hmm … no I don't think getting a coin and doing that would be the best idea right now.

"Is your Master really this crazy Saber?" I say to the real Saber who's moved to an undamaged table. Somehow the woman managed to snag the wine bottle out of Berserker's hands and has a glass prepared.

Said glass almost slipped from her hands after I said the words "Master" and "Saber". Her mouth is slightly agape. A fly would fly inside it if there was a living thing inside this café besides us six. This place looks like a wild west show happened here.

"Why are you so surprised?" I say with a smile. "Your "praetor" has been calling you "Saber" this entire time. You would have to be Forrest Gump to not notice by now. I'm going to go on a limb and say you're from Ancient Rome as well. On account of the term 'praetor' originating from there."

"I do not know what you are talking about." Saber says before taking a large gulp of wine. She looks away from me but I can tell she is embarrassed from not covering herself and her Master.

"Eh, that's fine with me. I've already forgotten what I said just a bit ago." I agree. It would be a waste to ruin the fun by bringing in the topic of the Grail. Besides, Berserker is enjoying herself.

"Another bottle!" My blonde Servant says as she tosses the empty bottle. The man, whom I'm assuming is a wannabe gangster based on his looks, just places the bottle politely to the side before saying something to Berserker. Berserker then glares harshly at him before she slams his head into the bar. Berserker then says something to Hibiki that causes her to pale considerably. The redheaded girl disappears into the backroom.

Like I said, she's having fun in her own special way.

"So were Roman parties this crazy or is this just an exception?" I ask, dusting off my red shirt as I walk to an unbroken chair. Sitting down I look at the look alike in red. I like her taste in color at least. I notice some differences between her and Berserker. Two big ones actually. How the hell can someone who is so short be so … big? Come to think of it, why the hell can I see underneath her dress?

"They were greater, more refined, and just as destructive." Saber sighs apparently lost in memory. While standing up, she tosses me Berserker's clothes. Thankfully there isn't a pair of panties or a bra contained in the neatly folded pile. A scholar and a gentleman, err, woman, this Roman is. "Hopefully that pale intimations of mine will dress appropriately before we meet again."

"Hmm, sorry but I doubt it." I say. The woman in red then sighs like the world is ending. I really don't want to listen to her knocking Berserker and praising herself. "But, perhaps you should try the style before shaming it? I bet you would look wonderful. "

Though the clothes I gave Berserker are men's clothes … due to certain reasons. Well, if this woman can walk around wearing what she is now she'd probably be fine with anything.

"... I will take notice of this. But do not think I'm doing this just because you said this. Praetor gets the final say in this matter." The woman says with a cocky smile and bright eyes.

 _This lady must be the largest ham ever._ For some reason, I get the feeling that if her Master told her that she looked good in shabby hobo clothes she would wear it just to make it true. I don't voice that thought though. Women are capable of scorn harsher than the pits of hell.

I gesture to the half full wine bottle. Looking at the label I notice it was made in Italy, of all things. It's not a pink Moscato but I'd rather have it then have to go over and order a different drink. Those two are still drinking their livers to death, and I'd rather steer clear from that show. Saber nods as I pick up a red solo cup that was dropped on ground. Seems clean and it doesn't have any holes or anything. After pouring a glass, I take a sip and savor the taste.

"You have good taste, ma'am" I say out of respect. Her taste in wine is better than Lucy's. Her tastes are basically grab whatever shit has alcohol in it and drink it. I'll have to steal some of this later. Or order it.

"Oh? So you recognize my greatness!" Saber says as she basically gets in my personal space, her nose just inches away from mine before frowning. "Too bad you are far too meager in appearance."

What?

"If you dressed much brighter perhaps you would be at least something comparable to me." She looks at me as if I'm an eyesore.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I glare at the servant. Red and Black are the best colors for blending together! "Besides aren't you wearing the same color of red as I am?"

Before the woman can reply, something hard hits me in the head. I can feel the spot already swelling.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing over there?!" I groan in pain as I see Berserker's enraged face. "Stop flirting with the whore already!"

The person in question just frowns at the insult tossed her way. She seems to take it well, all things considering, allowing it to roll off her like water off a duck's back. Or perhaps she's just able of looking past it considering the 'punishment' she treated Berserker to? Either way Berserker seems flushed. Is it the alcohol? The man she's "dueling" has an evil smirk on his face for some reason. Seating between them is…

"Is that a barrel?!" I almost shout. There was a barrel sitting between them. On each side there are large straws facing toward the two.

"Yeah, well stuff happened so we just decided settle in one go!" Berserker cheers. I give the barrel a slight shake noting how light it feels. How much did they drink?!

"Hah, we should of done this in the beginning." The man named Praetor says lazily. "It is ten times better than just drinking out the bottle." Below them are at least twenty or more empty bottles

"How the hell are you two not drunk and passed out yet."I ask as Saber stares wide eyed at her Master's achievement. For Berserker it was most likely due to being a servant but a human drinking all this and still coherent? Nothing short of amazing, that's for sure.

"So…." That green girl leans forward with a malicious smirk on her face. "Which one of you is paying for everything?"

The four of us look at each other. I know Berserker has no money.

"I don't mind splitting the bill with you?" I ask. "50/50?"

"Sure. I don't mind." The man says. He digs in his pockets with his bandaged hands while I do the same. I ask for the total and grimace as my partner in crime just shrugs it off nonchalantly. Something tells me he has been though far worse.

I end up giving money. While the other guy….

"What is this?" The green girl blood vessel seems ready to pop out of her forehead as she looks at the lint that is in her hands. I can't help but laugh.

"Let me guess, you're broke?" I chuckle.

"Yeah somebody took it and used it for something they shouldn't have …." The man glares at his servant whom seems ashamed for some reason.

"Fine I'll pay for it."

"What? You're going to pay for his share Keith?!" Berserker states as she jumps down from her seat.

"Considering he put up with your antics I think it's the least he deserves." I state. Berserker then grunts and looks away and starts walk out. I see crack again. "Before we leave, can you please, please change back into your clothes….people may think you're a stripper of some kind."

"What are you….?" Berserker then looks down and notices what she is wearing. With a growl she walks up to me and takes away her clothes before running off muttering and cursing all the way. I then take out extra money and place it on the table.

"That will cover the drinks sir." Hibiki says in a sing-song voice." What about the damages?"

I look over the place once more. It's like a wild boar rampaged in the place. Just for dramatic effect a table topples over suddenly and falls to pieces.

"It was like this when I got here." I say brushing back my hair. Saber's Master starts to laugh before Green smacks him across the face. Sighing I continue," Can you get me some pen and paper?"

I write down the number of a certain Lord in the Mage Association telling them that person will be more than happy to cover the damage. Saber seems antsy for some reason, like she has pee.

"I am happy you covered for my Praetor." The servant says with teary eyes. "I would sing a concert in your name but this place would not be able to contain my greatness."

"That's fine," I shrug. For some reason though I feel like I literally dodged a bullet." I just want one thing, what's your name oh dearest magistrate of Rome?

The man snorts before answering, "Dante."

"I am Keith, a pleasure to meet you." I say holding out my hand. Dante stares at it before shaking it. "Berserker, are you ready yet?"

"Shut up, I'm ready." My grumpy servant says as glares at Saber. "Just you wait whore; I'll make sure you pay!"

"Mmm, I look forward to such an occasion!" Saber says while Dante sighs loudly sounding like he wants to get out of there.

With that we go out, barely holding open the door and nearly running into man with shades and black hair as we do.

Dante huh? I really hope he is not an enemy in this grail war. Maybe he'd be a good ally instead?

"It's time to get back to business Berserker." I say looking at Berserker, who seemed uncomfortable. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing… it was just hard to remove all that wax from myself." Berserker revealed.

"Wax?"

* * *

 **Back to Dante's POV**

Safe to say, I got banned from entering the shop ever again. I also got tossed outside. Who knew a sixteen-year-old light-weight could be so strong?

"Why did you think it was a good idea to out drink that woman, Praetor?"

I point an accusatory finger at my compatriot. "Hey, don't come at me with that! I was defending my honor, woman!"

She snorts, still somewhat off-put from the girl's comment. "Fine, despite the pettiness of such an act, I suppose I can let it slide. She was a rather vulgar woman was she not?"

"Yeah, and she looked just like you."

"Bah! As if. I am one of a kind. She may have been a fan to graft her features in my image, but she was nothing but a mere forgery of the original." Cue the raising of her nose at an acute angle along with the complimentary pout. Never change, Saber, Never change.

"Still, Praetor. While your anger was justified, I can't help but feel it was misplaced. Did you really need to insult our hosts?"

"They refused to serve me anymore!"

"You told them you were broke. What did you expect?"

"Customer service!"

"Is there such a thing as a penniless shopper?"

"Well who's fault was that?"

"Praetor, I apologized did I not? That is more than most will get from me, it would be foolish to desire more."

"I desire to have more than spare change in my pocket."

"I could put my hand in there if it would make you feel better?"

"How the hell would that help?!"

"It might make you feel less empty."

That … doesn't make any sense. But I can't help but feel uneasy. Almost as if she's struck a nerve I didn't know I had.

"At least it did not end in complete disaster." Saber walks over to me, and kneels beside my head; meeting my gaze with one of her own.

"I was thrown out. Literally."

"Yes, this may be true." She reaches down to me. "But at least that redheaded fellow was kind enough to pay your tab."

I grab her hand, grumbling slightly at the point she's made. "I don't particularly enjoy owing a debt to a stranger."

"Alas, Praetor. That is where you are wrong." Her hand clasps tightly around mind and I'm brought back to my feet. "He gave you his name. That makes him more than a stranger, does it not?"

Sheepishly, I scratch at the back of my head. "Would you believe me if I said I already forgot it?" And that was the truth. Though in my defense, he'd given my name in the middle of a drinking contest. Did he seriously expect me to remember it when I was guzzling down the piss of the gods? I could barely remember my own name! Let alone the name of someone I'd just met. The name I did remember was 'Berserker'. That's what he called that girl. So she was a Servant. Joy. But was she in this War? Unlikely, considering we'd already met the Berserker of this fight. *Cough Ben Grimm poser clone*. Hmm, perplexing. I shake off the suspicions that pass through my mind. There's no way there could be two Servants of the same class in a Grail War. No way.

My companion shakes her head in the negative, rousing me from my thoughts. The small grin on her face contradicts the movement, but it tells me she's at least slightly back into good spirits. "It would not surprise me in the least, Praetor." She straightens her posture, a satisfying pop coming from her back. "Come now, our moment of merriment has come to pass. It is time we continue on our journey."

I don't think that was really what you could call a 'moment of merriment'. The majority of that encounter was a drunken skirmish for supremacy. Still can't believe that Moss Head managed to toss me out of the place by the scruff of my neck. How the hell do people find tsunderes alluring when they're capable of such destruction? It's like being sexually attracted to a V2 rocket. Sure it's pretty and all when it's being armed and prepared for use, but it's not exactly something you'd want to be near when it goes kaboom.

"Praetor, as a proud Roman I cannot help but be impressed at how you indulged yourself in there." Her head bobs up and down in satisfaction. "Never before have I seen a man guzzle down a casket of wine in under a minute. With all due respect, should you not have died of alcohol poisoning Praetor?"

I shrug nonchalantly, brushing aside the absurdity of my actions. "After years of abuse I can't help but feel I've become immune to the negative repercussions of overindulgence."

"Eh? You mean to tell me you cannot get drunk?"

This bring a hearty chuckle to my lips. Not exactly, but I don't focus on going into detail, instead being amused by the implications of her question. "You consider that a negative?"

We walk in silence. I don't particularly care to explain. I can't really explain it to her. It's just a side effect of my existence.

"I suppose this means we have yet another thing in common. As a Servant, I find myself unable to become intoxicated as well." She shrugs. "Possibly because my body processes such things as food and drink faster than normal."

I nod, accepting her explanation. "I read somewhere that Heroic Spirits convert consumed food into pure prana to fuel them." Which is why it was so goddamn difficult to beat one. Not impossible, mind you, but improbable. A cheeky grin forms on my bruised and battered face. "You're like a freaking plant."

She smiles, closing her eyes and for some reason enjoying the comparison. "A plant, you say? In that case I must be a rose."

I step over a pothole in the road, taking a moment to ponder on how depraved the infrastructure on this side of town is. "Why a rose? I would have assumed you'd be an orchid, or some various other exotic and expensive species."

She laughs, the melodic sound drawing a comparison from my mind to a wind chime ringing in the breeze. "An orchid is a fine flower indeed, but it lacks the allure of a rose."

"Oh?"

"Yes, roses are far more elegant in their simplicity. In my opinion the orchid is too complex for its own good." She clears her throat, obviously considering her words heavily. "Why must there be so much added depth to beauty? It should be something that is abundantly apparent to the common viewer."

"I'd agree. What good is a masterpiece if no one appreciates it?" I don't know why I say that. Art isn't my thing. At least I never found it compelling, especially modern art. (I'm looking at you, Piss Christ.) But for some reason I can't help but answer her with that question. It just feels right. Like a gut feeling sort of thing. I can't really understand it.

She smiles softly at me. Are those … tears in the corners of her eyes? They're barely present, faint clues as to how emotional she is over this, but they tell me a story all on their own.

Whatever is going to be said in this conversation is going to be as important as when I said my piece after the encounter with Taiga. This is a game changer, something that'll shape our relationship forevermore.

"That makes sense. You seem to value practicality over all else, Praetor." She wipes at her eyes as I politely pretend to not notice. "And what value does art have without an audience to enjoy it?"

This is something completely out of my element. Don't get me wrong, pseudo-philosophical mumbo jumbo is a third of the bullshit that comes from my mouth. The other two-thirds are composed of sarcasm, jokes, and blunt insults. But as I've already said, art is not my cup of tea. I have no idea how to properly critique it, or how to speak of it. My knowledge on the matter is limited. As is my knowledge with most things that aren't pop culture or gun related. Wait … guns!

My hands go into my pockets as I begin whistling. "Hmm … who's to say you can't have an audience of one?"

Time seems to stop. Almost as if I've shattered the space time continuum with such a simple question. Saber stiffens as if taken aback by such an idea. "An 'audience of one'?"

I shrug, and begin to chew on my thumbnail, internally debating how I should best go about explaining this. "Well it's simple. You don't have to be a rock star to be a musician just like you don't have to be the next Picasso to be an artist." Once again, I shrug, trying my best to downplay what I'm saying in case it rubs her the wrong way.

"Think of it like this, is a gun useless if not everyone wants to use it? Is it worthless if only a few people praise it?" The blank look on her face tells me she has no clue where I'm going with this. I pantomime the action of ushering her forward; urging her to answer the question to the best of her ability. Of course, she doesn't really understand where I'm going with this.

"Why are we talking about weapons? I believe we were talking about art, Praetor?" Actually, we were talking about flowers which you sort of pulled a non-sequitur with by tying it to art. And now I'm essentially pulling a non-sequitur of my own to make some sense of this word salad we're calling a worthwhile conversation.

"I don't want to ramble on any more about this; but basically, this is how I see it: firearms are just as much a piece of art as a painting, song, or movie." Nowadays people consider video games to be art, an opinion which I can agree with. If that's the case who's to judge my opinion on what can or cannot be art? Just look at modern art. I shudder at the thought. If that can be considered art, an expertly crafted weapon can be. There's nothing more beautiful than a well-oiled machine, in my opinion at least. And just look at the pricier weapons out there. Those that are engraved up the wazoo. Those give Mona Lisa a run for her money.

"Ah." I was hoping for a more coherent response, but I suppose that'll have to do. At least it's not outright disagreement.

"Let's get off that topic." I clear my throat, hoping to make my voice as clear as possible. "Here's the thing, some people don't like .308 select fire rifles. They complain about recoil, the weight of the gun, and blah blah blah." I smile, a broad toothy grin encompassing the whole of my face. "Me? I love 'em. Can't get enough of them. 7.62x51 for days, baby."

"People call these rifles obsolete in war because 5.56 exists. And because a lighter round has a better velocity." I wave away that very compelling argument. "But me? I'd take a battle rifle any day. Can't get enough of those old war horses." I look her in the eyes, watching for any sign of tears that might fall. Then I hastily start to shake my hands, a physical remedy to any misunderstanding this might bring about. "Don't get me wrong, I still love me some 5.56. But I just feel like nothing can quite top those meatier rounds." Especially when you're hunting legendary heroes that can brush aside rockets to the face. Using anything less than a .338 Lapua on these things is equivalent to throwing a rock at a M1 Abrams.

"Get what I mean?"

She stares back into mine and then her view starts to scan over my face, seemingly memorizing the contours of my expression.

"Praetor, I have no idea what it is you are talking about."

I practically collapse in despair.

"But…"

Eh? 'But'?

"It seems to be making you happy. You should really smile more often." She covers her mouth with her hand, likely hiding a bout of laughter that's fighting to be heard.

I mirror her image, but instead of hiding my mouth I opt for hiding my entire face, courtesy of the good ole facepalm. "Ok, give me a sec to think of a better way to phrase this."

She obliges, sparing me an entire minute in silence as we walk back the way we came from.

"I got it!" In this spirit of victory, I pat her furiously on the back. Any other girl her size would probably fall over from the hits. But Saber? Well, let's just say my hand hurts a lot more than her back probably does.

"You like roses, right?"

She nods. "Why yes, Praetor. I believe I did say that?" Confusion laces her speech.

"But everyone loves roses!"

"Praetor, I still do not understand where you are going with this."

"Why does everyone love roses?!" Probably due to how roses are ingrained into our minds as the traditional symbol of romance and passion. But I'm not going to tell her that. Knowledge is a buzzkill in these situations.

For a brief moment, shock is broadcasted in her expression. Then, it's gone, replaced by comprehension as she slowly realizes the meaning of my words. Or rather, slowly realizes what my words mean to her. What? You think I'm an idiot? I got no shit as to what the hell I'm talking about. Of course I'm going to be vague as all hell. I have to let her come to her own conclusions; otherwise I'm going to sound like a moron talking about things I have no clue about.

"There can be only one reason!" Her hands go to her hips, and yet again the proud Emperor reigns supreme. Basking in the glory of her royal highness, I can't help but shade my eyes. What? I can barely hear out of one ear. I don't want to be barely able to see too.

"Everyone loves what I love!"

"…." I feel that's an accurate summary of how I reply to her. The actual message I relay back probably would be written down more like Morse code with how I'm clicking my tongue at her.

"Wonderful, this has been a most enlightening conversation, Praetor!"

"Oh Pesci, you're a whole seven layers of stupid, aren't you?"

Crickets.

"Excuse me?" Judging from her expression she's either going to break down in tears or throttle me within an inch of my life. I'm not sure which would be preferable.

I walk away from the wedding cake's worth of idiocy that is Saber. She's stunned, completely unable of formulating a proper comeback. Maybe it's because she wasn't expecting me to have the audacity to criticize her so harshly after how I attempted to be nice to her. Or maybe it's because her brain is stuck on loop processing ways to massacre me for the disrespect. I don't know the answer. I don't particularly care about the answer. All I know is I want to go home. Or at least the closest thing to a home I have now.

"Saber, I was basically saying arts subjective. Ok? And that it doesn't matter if people like what you like as long as you like what you like." My shoulders sag in defeat. "Should have probably worded that a lot better, and without the analogies, those probably confused you." The worst part about this is I'm fairly certain underneath her obliviousness Saber's not stupid. Naïve, maybe, but not dumb. She just acts dumb. Why is this the case? Beats me. Perhaps she intellectually coddled? I'm going to have to work on building her common sense.

"That's where I was going with all that. Capisce?"

The reaction I get from her is a blank look. "Praetor, for someone that preaches the values of simplicity you tends to have a needlessly complex means of explaining things."

She sighs, a tired, aged sound that reminds me I am in fact dealing with someone that's close to two thousand years old. "Originally your title was brought about by your occupation as a Magus, but I am starting to think that word's connections to the legislators of my time is the real reason I have given it to you." Another sigh, damn I must have really stumped her. "Only a politician would explain something in such a convoluted manner." Why does she sound bitter when she says that? Oh wait, Nero; the Senate; all that jazz; makes sense.

"Let's just agree that roses are nice flowers and your taste is impeccable."

"Agreed."

Man, I can't help but release a breath in relief now that I'm done with that. It definitely could have gone better, but I don't feel like I failed some sort of speech check or anything. I might have stumbled along there, but Saber doesn't seem angry with me or anything. Granted, that's not exactly something I'm worried about, but it's good to avoid an argumentative relationship.

At least in some regards.

"Praetor, we are being followed."

"Hmm?"

"They see to be above us, jumping from roof to roof."

As subtly as possible, I divert my gaze away from her and up to the rooftops above us. Sure enough, there's a shadowy figure parkouring from building to building.

"Looks like we got ourselves an urban ninja."

"Or a genuine one."

I can't help but snort in amusement. "As if. If that's the Assassin of this war, then we've got nothing to fear." Either they have E rank Presence Concealment, or it's not Assassin.

"Perhaps they want us to know of their presence?"

An intriguing idea and one I don't have the time to question.

"Praetor, dead ahead."

What? I'm unable to even vocalize my thoughts. My mouth closes shut, seemingly of its own volition. I swallow my saliva, taken aback by the current change in the air.

This feels just like that moment before we were attacked.

It's the calm before the storm. Another enemy has just arrived. In addition to that one is watching us on the rooftops. A two on one fight between Servants? Or a three-way free-for-all? Either way, things aren't looking good for us.

They're looking even worse for the nightlife surrounding us.

Somewhere during our conversation we'd stumbled into a street party. Hookers, junkies, wannabe thugs, all of them surround us, grinding on one another. One bumps into Saber, thinking she's just another piece of meat. I don't hesitate to slam the side of my hand into his nose.

Saber gasps at the blood on my hand. As for me? I nonchalantly wipe it off on the fallen man's shirt, bending down to do so and using the moment of shock to observe the crowd surrounding us.

I seem to be a hypocrite. I criticized Taiga for being rusty, and yet I seem to be in a similar shape. "Guess two years of sitting on your ass doesn't help." I mumble this to myself, ignoring Saber. The crowd hasn't even realized one of their members has been rendered unconscious. One guy accidentally steps on him, the action sending a loud **crunch** throughout the night.

I didn't even notice we were walking into this. Saber didn't either, or could it be that she just didn't care?

Regardless this can be nothing but problematic.

The stranger on the roofs could snipe us. The likely foe in front of us could trample through this crowd and catch us in the crossfire. Both could be working together. A battle could result in dozens dead; with both Saber and I among the body count.

I force my mouth to open, fighting the survival instinct telling me to keep it shut to avoid attention.

"Guess this means the War's on." I sigh, an arduous task considering how the air itself has grown heavy with tension. "Troublesome." I should have expected this. That creature from the other night had attacked us, which means the War has been going on for at least three or so days. And that's just assuming it had started with Saber's summoning. I hope that's the case. I have eyes across the city, but not to the extensive degree I'd need them to be in order to know everything that's going on. A few familiars, a few bribed officials, some gang members turned employees, they're good for keeping me informed but even they can't know everything.

There were those reports in the news about murders increasing in Fuyuki, I can only expect that's part of all this. That means someone started mobilizing before me. I can only pray that there haven't been any battles in my moment of absence.

"Saber, they're definitely not friendly." I wasn't prepared for this. Dammit! My fist pounds against my skull in frustration. It's late at night. Witnesses don't guarantee safety. Magi were immoral bastards (and that's coming from me). Collateral damage was a given with them involved. To some, innocent bystanders were merely a minor annoyance.

A gyaru tries to shove her ass in my face. I push her off. She comes back. "Oooh, yeah, spank it baby!" She's got a harsh accent, indicating that English is not her first language. At least she tried, I guess. Gotta look on the bright side, Dante. You now have a potential human shield in the event of a fight.

Saber, for some reason, doesn't enjoy that particular idea. She grabs the woman by her shoulders and flings her deeper into the mass of bodies around us.

"Praetor, this is no time for play. They will be upon us soon." How the hell can you know …?

Even my thoughts grow still at the scent that washes over me. Absentmindedly I notice the shadow above us recoil in disgust. I can't help but giggle.

I mean, what else is one to do when surrounded by the scent of blood?

The crowd stops. Just like that. No more dancing. No more laughter. The J-Pop booming out of a Bluetooth speaker is the only sound. Everyone figuratively transforms into statues, as if Medusa herself had come down upon them. And considering the way this War works, that wouldn't be entirely surprising.

"Hmm, at least it's not that beast from the other night."

I can't help but be optimistic. Cynicism is my shtick, but right now I can't let my pessimism cloud my judgment. Sadly, I'm still ever so slightly tipsy. But hey, I don't think that's as bad as it would be normally. It'll numb some of the pain I'm likely to feel in the coming moments.

I stand up, stretching after kneeling for so long. "We fight them here."

"But the people–!"

"Will provide excellent cover." I interrupt before Saber can say more.

Disbelief. That is the emotion that covers Saber's visage. That is the response to my statement.

"Goddamn, you're easy to fool." The Pico comes out, pointed straight into the night sky. A single shot is all it takes to turn these statues into a screaming mob running for safety. My Pico became a starter pistol, and it did an excellent job at signaling the runners to take off for the finish line. That finish line being the preservation of their lives.

One practically clothesline's me in his haste. Of course, my reaction to his carelessness is a knuckle sandwich to the face. Hey, if everything goes wrong (when everything goes wrong) I can use him and the other dipshit I knocked out to form a barricade.

Granted, two unconscious dudes stacked on top of one another like pancakes won't exactly rival a wall of sandbags or anything, but it'll still be hilarious to see how the enemy will react.

The group of party goers parts in front of me, and for a moment I feel like Moses splitting the Red Sea. It's a short-lived moment because the shifting of the crowd gives me full view of our 'guest'.

The guy is directly in front of me. The only thing separating us is fifty feet of sidewalk and a handful of drunken hooligans fleeing for their lives. He looks to be in his late forties, maybe even fifties. I'm not exactly sure since I've never been good with telling age. Though his gray hair shows he has to be at least of a decent age. I'll admit, I'm a bit envious of the guy's facial hair. It puts my patchy disgrace to shame.

If it ended there then the guy would be your average aging tourist. What separates him from the average Joe has to be a combination of his red eyes and the fact that he's wearing goddamn plate armor.

Black plate armor to be specific, and to drive home the point that he's some glorified badass has to be the left side of said plate armor being entirely stained with blood.

I didn't even know armor could stain. This guy had to be a serious lazy ass to neglect cleaning his armor to the point where it actually stained. The blood on it is akin to an alcohol stain in the shag carpet of a 1970s Volkswagen bus.

As in it's everywhere and really noticeable. Hasn't he heard of waxing?

The best part is how he has a red cape attached to the front. It's all tattered as if the guy just went through hell and back. The fact that it's a cape just makes me happy for some strange inexplicable reason. On second thought, it's not so strange or inexplicable. I can pinpoint exactly why his cape makes me happy. It allows me to picture this guy wearing his underwear on the outside with tights on. So it is a good idea to picture people in their underwear when you're nervous? Makes sense. Mockery is the best form of stress release.

The man raises his arm, and a flurry of bats launches out from underneath the cape. Oh great, I'm dealing with a wannabe Batman.

The flying fur balls obscure my direct line of sight with the guy, meaning that for a whole five seconds I'm unsure as to where he is. In those five seconds I realize two things.

One- I should have grabbed Saber and ran into the crowd when I had the chance.

And two- Even the slowest Servant moves a million times faster than an average human.

Those two thoughts race through my head as what I can only assume to be the Lancer of this War thrusts his spear straight into my chest.

Or … he tries to.

A sword blocks it, wielded by none other than Saber. The determination in her eyes tells me all I need to know. No matter what, she will not let me down.

I await the third blow, that of the enemy on the roofs. Surely they will capitalize on this development? I wince, prepared for the inevitable. Will it come as a knife in the back? Or perhaps they're the Archer of this War, and I'll be ended from a distance?

A brief moment passes, and nothing happens. That might not be entirely true. Saber slams her fist into the stomach of the Servant directly in front of me. Surprisingly it actually does some damage, sending the guy a few feet backwards and giving Saber and I some breathing room.

"Grassy ass."

There are a few things that I'll always remember in my life, a few beautiful images that will forever be entwined in my memories. The poleaxed expression on Saber's face that forms once her mind registers what I've just said is going to be one of those images I hold dear.

"What?"

I cough into my closed fist. "Forgive me; my pronunciation has always been terrible. Gracias."

Her confusion dissipates, replaced with a smile as her inner Google Translate deciphers what I'm saying. "Think nothing of it, Praetor. You would have done the same." Oh? How can you be so sure?

"You never intended to harm them." Damn, must be thinking aloud once again. What the hell is she talking …. Ah. The crowd.

"It would have been … discomforting to fight amongst corpses. That's an experience I'd rather not repeat."

She opens her mouth, likely to ask about the first experience I'm implying occurred. She doesn't get a chance to. An object blurs before my eyes. And just like that she's on the defensive, her blade locked with Lancer's spear. She's cringing, likely because of the strength in her opponents blow. My vision can't process his movements, and it's not because he's fast or anything like that. It's because with every swing he's displacing the very air around him, cutting up gusts of wind that obscure his motions.

He's not fast. No, quite the contrary, he's slow as molasses. But that doesn't matter. He's strong. Ungodly strong. Incomprehensibly strong. In fact, from just seeing him in action I can say with clear certainty that he'd beat the monster from our last fight in arm wrestling.

For an old geezer this sonofabitch certainly packs a punch. Saber's heels crack the pavement before slowly starting to sink into the ground. Once again she's being overpowered by an enemy with more muscle than her. Once again she's forced to be on the defensive because of my presence.

I have no doubt she could defeat him. His stats are impressive for a Servant, but depressing for a Lancer. At least, that is what I am assuming he is. Maybe I'm making an ass out of you and me with that assumption? Lancers are supposed to be the fastest are they not? And despite that the mustachioed man in front of me is quite lacking in the speed department.

You want to know what he's not lacking in? Oomph. He's certainly got a lot of brawn. And I'm also gonna go out on a limp and say he's not exactly lacking in brain either. He avoids the tired old cliché of locking blades with the enemy while you gloat, and instead decides to take advantage of Saber's position. By "take advantage" I of course mean he cheats.

His armored boot lifts up, an act that would be tantamount to suicide in a close quarters brawl. Normally this would be a foolish maneuver, one that Saber could easily exploit by pushing him back. Without two feet holding him in place our foe would comically fall on his ass. Then why isn't that what happens?

Saber certainly tries to knock him down. She puts her all into it, pushing desperately against his guard. The guy doesn't so much as budge. I notice why. His other foot, the right one, in buried several feet into the ground. His initial attack not only pushed Saber into the earth, but it took him down with her. What a fatass.

Maybe now's not the time for petty insults to lighten the mood. Why you ask? Well, simple. His foot comes down. Hard. It's target? Saber's knee.

There's a loud **crack**. Like the thunderclap following a bolt of lightning. It's a sickening sound, one that's accompanied by an equally disgusting pop. A noise that sounds almost identical to the sound of someone cracking their knuckles.

You know what's worse? Saber's cry. An anguished scream that she fights desperately to cut off before it can overcome her. I watch as she bites down on her lip, keeping her mouth shut to avoid showing weakness. She glances back at me, tears convalescing in the corners of her eyes due to the pain. Those same eyes harden once she focuses on my face. I'm not showing fear. I'm not showing concern. I'm not even showing fury.

There's only one word for the expression on my face.

Acceptance.

This fight has spiraled out of control in barely a minute. Saber's gone from the defensive to the defenseless. And where do I fit into all this? I'm a minor distraction, nothing more than a blip on the radar. A liability.

Am I going to have another badass moment in this? Am I once again going to have to risk it all in the face of absolute defeat? No. This battle's different.

The monster from our last conflict was an uncontrolled mess. A rapid dog let off his leash. Easily distracted, easily manipulated. I held him off. I distracted him. And then, because he chose to focus on me too late, I managed to overwhelm him.

That won't happen in this fight. These are the monsters that truly concern me. The ones in control.

Were I to pull the same stunt and fire an RPG at this senior citizen he'd surely cut it in half with that glorified toothpick of his. All I'd do is catch Saber in the blast radius. A blast radius she's too injured to avoid.

And that's even assuming I can spare the precious few seconds to build the weapon.

No. I know what's going to happen, and that's why I'm not scared, worried, or angry.

Saber probably assumed I was accepting her defeat, already writing her off like all the others before me. She probably assumed I was going to run and use her as bait to save my own skin. I can't blame her. A few years ago and I wouldn't have hesitated to do such a thing.

But now? I'm not accepting her death. I'm accepting my own.

I'm going to use all three Command Spells. That'll give her enough time to find a new Master, one that's more observant of his/her surroundings.

Then I'm going to charge at this Lancer, and I'm going to kill him. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but so help me God I'll do it.

That's what I need to do. Because that's my true goal in this War.

I told Saber I was doing it to protect this city, and that's true. What wasn't true was the reason I want to protect this city.

I'm doing it because I want to be remembered.

And being a hero is the easiest way to become a legend.

I take a step forward, surprising my Servant who assumed I would take one back. I watch as the sadness in her eyes washes away, replaced by disbelief, and finally disappointment. Likely in how she jumped to conclusions about what I'd do.

Finally, I see that emotion I've been waiting to see. The one that lets me keep walking forward towards an enemy I can't beat.

Hope.

Hope in me. Hope in herself. Hope in our chances for victory.

This is a clusterfuck of a fight, one that's caught us all unaware. Saber didn't expect to be incapacitated. I didn't even expect a fight to happen. I've been enjoying myself too much, stumbling from one moment of comedic relief to the next. To the extent that I'm just now remembering how close things came in our last fight. How I could have very easily faced worse injuries than the ones I had. How the bandages wrapping my hands and arms could have been casts and how if Saber were a normal human her leg would likely be in a cast in the aftermath of this fight.

How quickly can a Heroic Spirit regenerate without a Master? Can they even do so?

Whatever, it won't be my problem soon enough.

I take another step forward. Lancer's upon Saber once again. His spear clashes with her sword. Saber holds strong despite her wounds, broken knee spurting blood as she tries to put most of her weight on her good one, continuing to believe in her chances of victory despite very clearly fighting a losing battle.

Despite her efforts and speed more lacerations are added and her clothing is torn as her defense is comprised. Soon the spear digs like a hungry beast into her left shoulder making it fall useless against her side as gore darker then her crimson dress spills onto the ground. Still, Saber valiantly fights to defend me.

This shouldn't have been the case. She should beat him easily. What's the variable stopping her from doing this? Me. My presence is causing her to hold back. She is avoiding the use of her Noble Phantasm. Is it to keep her identity secret from me? Or is it because it's so powerful I'd be harmed with its use? Either way I am holding her back.

Saber's strikes soon become like a wilted rose as she becomes more desperate. The bloody old man relishes this, kicking the Emperor in the gut with a faint **crack** reverberating throughout the evening night.

Saber's ribs just broke. With an undignified scream of pain, the blonde falls to her back. Lancer's cheek is covered with the crimson liquid of the Emperor of Rome. Slowly, the geezer's tongue comes out slurping up the lifeblood of his prey, much like savoring the taste of a fine meal.

I take another step forward.

Despite the pain, Saber stands up, ichor coming out of her mouth as she does. Her green eyes, once bright and proud were now dull and lifeless. But there was still grim determination in her eyes. Slowly she raises her blade with her one good arm and readied herself. Lancer smiles sadistically, enjoying this as much as a cat plays with a rodent before devouring it whole.

One last step forward, the dirty and stained bandages that covered my right hand fall to the ground, tossed aside like all the other litter in this street. My fingers wrap around the slender rusted neck of a streetlight, the metal feels cool to the touch and it soothes my aching and damaged flesh.

"Is your Master watching through your eyes? Or are they observing us in person?" My voice comes out clear as day in the dark setting of this night. Saber's knees buckle, her bad one causing her to jerk in pain as droplets of plasma fall to the pavement beneath her. The area around the woman in crimson is stained in a darker crimson due to all the injuries inflicted, her arm drips as she coughs up more blood. The white of her outfit is mostly stained red. Saber has no choice but to use her sword to prop herself lest she fall on her face.

Our enemy pauses for a millisecond, seemingly debating with himself over whether or not he should indulge me. That or he is enjoying Saber's bleeding spectacle. Then, he does what is quite possibly the rudest thing to do to a foe in combat. He looks away from Saber, not at all caring about her as he answers my inquiry. Saber herself takes a notice of this, anger on her pale face.

"My wife, the splendid being she is, would never dream of missing my first slaughter in this heretical War." Ah. So he's capable of speech at least. Though the low rumbling of his voice that promises bloodshed tells me he's not at all used to civil conversation. Go figure. The living murder machine isn't a gentleman. Color me surprised.

At least I've given Saber something to go off of. So if I die I might not die in vain. The enemy Master we're facing is either one of three things. stupid, arrogant, or sadistic. That narrows it down to … like half of the world's population. Aw hell, who am I kidding? It's probably bare minimum two-thirds.

"Is she a coward? Only a pansy would watch a fight instead of participating." I'm throwing some shade at that sonofabitch on the roofs. I'm not 100% sure over whether or not that's his Master. It could also be another Servant if we're particularly unlucky tonight.

There's a brief respite in all this. Lancer abruptly pushes Saber away from him, the movement jostling her body and earning quite a few agonized grunts from her.

Then, Batman stands up from his combat stance. His back straightens from the slouch he was in. Both hands grasp onto his spear, instead of just the single one that once held it. He looks me straight in the eyes, and for a period of time red meets bronze.

And just like that I know I've underestimated him.

I'm not going to even get a chance to defend myself.

* * *

 **AN: First off I'd like to once again apologize for the wait. I really missed my time schedule with this chapter. Mainly because I kept going back to this chapter thinking "You know what this needs? Another thousand words sprinkled in for extra flair." Also I've been spending more time at a local gun range in order to research some of the less 'documented' aspects of shooting you don't see in movies and video games. I.e. gunsmoke burning the ever living shit out of your eyes and throat while gunshots practically deafen your dumbass for daring to only wear cheap disposable earplugs. I'm hoping it'll end up adding something to the fight scenes. I'd do the same with swords (in order to get a grasp on how Nero would fight) but I'm not exactly 'open' to the idea of getting my ass wrecked in a HEMA course. And don't even get me started on attempting Pankration, lol. Major Kudos to any of you that into wrestling, boxing, or MMA, your manlier men than I XD. Which means you guys won't be seeing Nero in her 'gladiator mode' (or whatever it's called in Extella) wrestling with Jabberwocky as she reenacts Hercules' killing of the Nemean lion. Now with that out of the way, time to address the reviews! And my God, you guys have given me plenty to work with :D. Thanks a bunch!**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: Woah boy, calm down! There's going to be plenty more slapstick in the future, trust me you'll get your fill. And that's not even considering all the stuff that went down this chapter XD.**

 **Anthem of the Night: I see exactly what you mean. It's so much easier to write a 'good guy' type of character like Shirou than it is to write a mentally unstable lunatic. Hence why you might notice Dante slowly toning it down as the story continues. It's practically impossible to understand what an insane person would act like without first hand experience. I wish I could give some advice, but the most I can think of is that it's sometimes better to underthink things than it is to overthink them. Otherwise you'll never be satisfied with a chapter and it'll be perma-hiatus. Thanks for the compliment on Taiga, I felt really anxious about including her but still decided to go for it because of how impressed I was with her yakuza boss design in Grand Order. That just left open so many opportunities to use her in a story about a guy that's obsessed with mafia culture. Well ... those are both really good ideas you have there, but unfortunately I went a completely different less serious and more comedic route. Believe me, though, when I say those types of scenes will come up really soon. But it won't be in a bar, it'll be in the mansion in a more private setting.**

 **Synthetic Knight: Aye aye Captain! Thanks for the praise, I intend to give it my all!**

 **Guest: I like that idea. I really, really like that idea. Dante getting called in as a specialist by the Church to help them a la Bazett. But. And this is going to be a big but. I have another idea. Shirou Kotomine (a Shirou without Kiritsugu) summoning Dante Di Prinzi as the Assassin of the Fifth Holy Grail War. Eh? Eh? If that sounds too ridiculous, well I have numerous, NUMEROUS, other ideas on how to go about shoehorning this inglorious bastard into UBW or Heaven's Feel. I'd imagine Dante and Cu would hit it off. But ... what about Dante and Romulus? It'd be like meeting your girlfriend's father by accident at the grocery store, only for them to end up being an ex-Navy Seal!**

 **King0fP0wers: First of all big thanks for how you went and made and account in order to fav and follow this story. That's some dedication man, and I salute you for it! Jesus Christ, that comparison nails it right on the dot, lol. I wasn't even thinking about those guys when I whipped up Taiga's men, I just thought "let's make a so-called yakuza bodyguard task force into a bunch of morons and see how it goes". But there's so many comparisons between them and Bartolomeo's gang it's ridiculous. This just begs the question of how Taiga would fair if she replaced him as the captain? Eh, I'd have to watch Tokyo Ghoul before making a call on that, lol. But I'm definitely open-minded on the possibilities. As for Dante's associate ... well, I don't have a strict reference for who he's modeled after but he'll definitely draw some similarities in your mind. He's basically going to be a Dante's ex-parole officer that decided it'd be kind of fun to join him in his entrepreneurship. As for what inspired me to write this: crack (not the drug, the genre) Monty Python, Deadpool, and a love for taking something serious (the Grail War in this case) and turning it upside down on its head. You know, if I were to do a "Dante as a Master" story in Zero I'd probably have him summon Caster anyway. Tamamo would be an interesting contender (going to comment on this in one of my other responses) but I was also thinking about a certain devil that corrupted a certain German man by the name of Faust. And by God you're a genius with that Hans suggestion. You don't know how frustrated I am about not being able to figure out a way to wiggle him in this story while also keeping Alice and Nursery Rhyme as Caster. There would be something so satisfying about having Dante and him attempting to one-up each other in snark. At the expense of Gil, Arturia, and Diarmuid, lol. Archimedes is another interesting choice, but he seems too ... stoic to fit Dante that well. I'd imagine he'd be more of the straight man to Dante's funny man, and that does have some potential. Shakespeare is another good possibility. And just imagine if Dante summoned adult Waver, Dress of Heaven Irisviel, or Magical girl Ilya as a Servant? Merlin would be equally hilarious, just to see the look on Arturia's face.**

 **SilverstormXD: Woohoo I'm in the 'favorite authors' category XD! Having all of your favorites update at the same time sounds a lot like Christmas to me. It's a whole lot better than waiting for someone to update a story for months. I'm looking at you 'Path of the King'! What the hell is taking so long?! It's been ten months, man ;_;! I really need to go ahead and get into Constantine than if that's the type of character he is. I love the trickster types. It's why I'm always a Rouge type of character in video games given the option.**

 **Guest 2: That's the biggest compliment I can hear, believe it or not! I hope to take it up to twelve next!**

 **Mango eater 24: First of all love the username. Mangoes are the greatest fruit on earth. Second only to the papaya. Second of all: Why?! Why would you tempt me with such an idea?! I might have said this or I might not have, but I sort of regret not having Dante summon Tamamo instead of Nero. Tamamo would get along with him better, but I ultimately chose Nero because I liked the conflicting personalities they'd clash with. But there's one reason I can't use Tamamo in this. Alice! There has to be at least one loli with a homicidal Hulk guarding them per story. It's like an unwritten quota that must be filled, lol. In all seriousness my problem with including Tamamo right now is the same problem I have with my desperate attempts to fit in Hans. I can't think of a good way to explain why there's more than one Servant of the same class without turning this into an Apocrypha. And while that idea is enticing, I don't feel I'm skilled enough to do it justice considering there'd be so many characters that wouldn't get enough spotlight. But! And this is a big, but! If I were to ultimately turn this into a fourteen Servant war, Tamamo would be a strong contender for best girl XD.**

 **Guest 3: You make a good argument. I counter it with one word. Mormons. When have harems ever done anything spectacular for Mormons besides turn them into the blights of society and the butt end of a million and one jokes? Lol. As for your question, well my answer's a resounding 'hell yes'. I plan on finishing this story first, but after that the sky's the limits. I'm not sure if I'll keep Dante as an MC, branch out to another OC, or even write using just canon characters. Something tells me that I'd like to toss Dante in various setting first just to see how much he can piss off the local populace. Hopefully you've sort of seen a hint as to how he'd get along with Mordred in this chapter.**

 **Now for an announcement. The 9th chapter is practically finished as of now. I just need to edit it and whatnot, but it shouldn't take as long as this chapter to get posted. I plan on updating it and the tenth (which is also in the works) and then taking a short hiatus on this story while I go back to working mostly on my other story Transparent for about a month or so. Just a quick heads up for any of you that might be curious as to whether or not I gave up on that one.**


	9. Knockin' on Heaven's Door

**Disclaimer: This chapter might feel a tad rushed on account of how quickly I've moved to finish it. Then again it might not and I might just be imagining things in my sleep-deprived, caffeine intoxicated state. Enjoy nonetheless!**

* * *

 **Chapter 9- Knockin' on Heaven's Door**

You know, I always thought I had terrible luck. I mean, who can really blame me? Everything has gone downhill from day one. I failed to stop that kid from summoning Saber. I got roped into this mess and ended up becoming a Master. My house got burned down. My van got crushed to a pulp. I was unconscious for about two days. Saber spent all my money. My house burned down. I got banned from the only place in this godforsaken city that stocks Chianti. I've stumbled across not one, but two Servants in one night. And oh, did I mention? My house burned down.

But something just happened that makes me think my luck might be improving.

Lancer practically flings himself upon me, pouncing upon my fragile form with a killing intent that stifles my breathing. But he doesn't hit me. He doesn't bisect me. I don't become an instant amputee. My nickname will never become Stumpy. Nor will it be Lieutenant Dan. Because Lancer's spear doesn't so much as touch me. It's blocked yet again. And this time Saber's not the one saving my ass.

A black blur soars over my shoulder, the projectile barely missing my form. It crashes straight into Lancer's chest, the blow knocking him backwards several feet.

He looks down at the plate armor covering his abdomen. And he raises an eyebrow, an eyebrow of all things. If I were in his position I'd be pissing my pants. Why, you may ask?

There's an arrow in his chest. It pierced clean through his armor, treating the iron as if it were tissue paper. It's buried all the way to the bolt's fletching; to the point where I have to do a double take to realize it isn't something like a blowgun's dart. The entire shaft of the arrow is inside of him, or at least inside of his armor.

Blood trickles from its gaps, pooling on the ground beneath his feet.

Lancer doesn't as much as flinch. Immediately he brings a gauntlet covered fist up to the point of impact, reaching to remove the pesky arrow from his chest cavity.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Less than ten words are spoken. But from those ten words I can tell my savior is someone I could get along with. A lot.

"I amped up the dosage to compensate for a Servant. Sad to say it won't kill you, even with the increase." The man on the rooftops shrugs, and I finally manage to get a clear view of his appearance.

A green cloak and an equally green hood covering his face. This is a man with style, a man of practicality, and a man I can appreciate.

But ….

He's also a cowardly little bitch for sitting up there and doing jack shit! If he was going to help us why didn't he do it before I had a heart attack?!

"But don't mind me, go ahead and pull that out. I'm curious to see if the increased blood flow could potentially kill you. To be honest I'm not certain we can even be affected by poison, but I'd say taxine is a good place to start." I watch as the figure smiles, his teeth shining through the night in the form of a smug grin. Motherfucker must use Colgate.

"But I'm not sure if you're a good test subject or not. You are an old geezer, and we all know how age affects the body." His arm rises, pointing straight at Lancer. It's only then that I realize he's mounted a crossbow of some sort to his forearm. Great, I have wannabe Batman to the left of me and wannabe Ezio Auditore to the right. Here I am, stuck in the middle with these fucking morons.

"Why, you'd probably keel over from a slight breeze." He pulls the trigger, sending another arrow towards Lancer.

The man doesn't even blink. His spear swats the bolt out of the sky, no hesitation in his movements now that he's expecting the attack. It seems our resident Archer's gotten his one cheap shot in for the night and Lancer's not the type to let him get any more.

For a moment all the anger he felt towards me is redirected to the man on the roofs, completely forgetting about Saber and I in the process. Then, he softens, his shoulders relaxing as he fondles his spear absentmindedly … Shit, wrong wording!

"Very well, my dear. I shall return to you once more." He smiles, the act catching me so off guard that I can't help but let my jaw drop. "And when I find these two once more I shall mince them into a meat pie, one that I believe you will savor the taste of."

Well, I'd like to think that statement puts his Master right into the 'sadist' category. Perhaps even a few others.

"As for you, the coward on the roofs, you are the Archer of this War, correct?"

"You're wasting both of our time with a question like that. And your time is much more limited than mine." The green-clad figure all but confirms Lancer's suspicions. Not that there's much room for him to deny. He is after all armed with a crossbow.

"Tsk. As an Archer you are lacking." Lancer raises his spear, pointing it to the heavens. "Assassin would have been a better class. At least then you would have been able to hide from me. But now?" The point of the spear aims directly at Archer. "Now, I will find you. And I will skewer you alive."

I'm getting a little sick of this sonofabitch. Saber's behind me, keeping herself upright as she uses her sword as a crutch. But she's still bleeding out. And I don't dare to turn around, as I'd doubt they'd take kindly to the idea of me attempting to fix her wounds.

"Ok, Liam Nesson, why don't you just fuck off before you have a heart attack over there?" I didn't mean to say that. It just spilled out of my mouth.

Everyone's eyes widen in shock. Saber forces herself to stand on two feet, drawing her sword out of the ground in order to ready herself for Lancer's charge. She wobbles, still unbalanced in her state, but she forces herself to remain standing. Archer whistles in awe. "Damn, and here I thought my Master was the only fool in this War."

And what does Lancer do? His fists tighten their grip on his spear. But that's all he does. He doesn't come after me.

"I will take your head. That large mouth of yours shall make for an excellent chalice."

"Psh. And you call me stupid? Anything you'd put in it would just spill out through my neck." I wave his threats off completely; not at all afraid of him now that I know he's going to retreat. "If you were to turn a decapitated head into a cup you'd be better off hollowing out the skull and using that."

Yet again all eyes fall on me, seemingly pinning me to the spot. Archer coughs into his fist, apparently uncomfortable with the direction this conversation has gone in. What? Wouldn't it be smarter to stall the guy? I'm giving your toxin more time to spread throughout his body, you idiot!

"Praetor!" Despite Saber's pained expression, and the clear anguish she's in, she protests what I just said either from moral indignation or a desire for me to allow Lancer to leave.

"You." Lancer directs a menacing glare my way, pointing a single bony finger at my chest. "You will be the one to usher in my reign." He does the cliché gesture where one pantomimes a slit throat by sliding their finger across their neck. "Through your suffering I shall make a statement to this era. A simple one, that even one such as you should be able to understand." He crosses his arms, allowing the spear to dissipate in a cluster of sparkling lights. "Cross me, and you shall view Hell as Paradise after I'm done with you."

And with that final ominous threat our 'guest' vanishes just like his spear.

"Meh, I give it a two out of ten. I've had eighty-year-old grannies threaten me with worse."

"Your balls are bigger than your brain." A dry chuckle reaches my ears. "I almost want to spare you, just to see what he'll do to you when he comes back."

That single statement brings back all the tension that left with Lancer. Saber's eyes flash with worry as she attempts to move closer to me. Do I have time to heal her? That's the question I ask myself. Can I do it before Archer attacks, and if I can will am I able of doing it sufficiently enough that she'll be able to take him one on one?

I'm not too sure of myself. Sure, I could simply boost the supply of prana I'm sending her way, but that'd be far less efficient. If I knew healing magic I'd be in the best shape right now. Guess I should have researched into that craft more after all.

As I'm thinking this, Saber's crawling at a snail's pace my way, and Archer's readying another arrow in his crossbow.

My mind reaches out for any other option, any means to avoid yet another fight. It finds something, a single glimmer of hope to latch onto.

"'Almost'? Why 'almost'?"

He stops. His crossbow lifted up halfway in an aiming position. "You're a Master." And with that he points his weapon straight at me. Saber screams into the empty night, fighting her wounds in order to lunge for me.

I don't move, instead I smile at the second assassin that's come for my head this night. "You said your Master was a fool, right? How come?"

The question causes him to pause. The eye he closed to improve his aiming opens back up as he frowns at me. I'm starting to get a better view of his features. Reddish orange hair. (Why the hell are there so many gingers in Japan, of all places?) Clean-shaven. A face that'd make girls swoon. But his eyes. Those are what draw me in. Such sadness, Such misery. It's depressing to gaze upon. He looks to be around my age. Possibly older by a year or two. And he's supposed to be a hero? A Heroic Spirit? Just a glance into his eyes tells me he's no such thing.

I'm starting to think Lancer was right when he said this War's a farce. Even Saber, who's eyes tend to portray either confidence, pride, or general jubilance, is no hero. Lancer certainly isn't one. That thing from the other night couldn't have been one. And now even the Archer of the War looks like he wants nothing more than to cry in the fetal position.

What the hell?

How can this be a War of Heroes if even the Knight classes are villains?

"He was the one that urged me to get involved." He grits these words out with a bitter tone, as if he were swallowing something quite unpleasant. "Trust me, without his intervention I would have let you die."

I nod to myself, accepting his words. They make sense. He sat by for most of the fight, only getting involved when it was absolutely necessary. I'm guessing his Master is the one that insisted on that. "Let him know I'm in his debt."

This draws a gasp from Saber, the look of shock in her eyes portraying what her words never could.

Archer eyes me with newfound interest. "Dead men have no debts." He states this with confidence, seemingly preparing himself to shoot me. I ignore this. He would have already killed me by now if he was going to. His Master likely 'urged' him not to.

"I'm afraid that's not true. Besides, I have no intention of dying before my debts are paid. That's a burden only I can carry." I frown at Archer, watching his posture for any indication he'll fire. "Believe me, I always pay back my debts. Just as I always collect those owed to me."

With that I walk towards Saber, intending to retake my place by her side. Archer's aim follows me the entire time. But he doesn't fire. His finger remains off the trigger.

Saber stays silent the entire period, her gaze follows my movement just like Archer. Both are watching me, avoiding the urge to voice their opinion on the matter. I have no doubts that Saber wishes she could fight Archer, for no other reason than to remove the possibility that he'll be a threat in the future. But I'm not confident she could win that fight, and even more I'm not willing to let her try. She's wounded; it'd be foolish to fight in her state. And Archer technically saved our lives, I'm not willing to attack him even if he wasn't acting on his own volition.

Speaking of Archer, I'm certain he wants to say something negative towards me. Some sort of insult, or even a brief bout of mockery. Yet he holds his tongue, avoiding the urge to gloat even though he'd have all the opportunity and right to do so. That's somewhat respectable, I suppose. Though I would prefer if he did ridicule us, I'd do it if our roles were reversed.

I finally manage to get close enough to Saber where I can help her. She leans against me, using me as a crutch in her attempt to stay on her feet. The girl practically collapses in my arms. "Thank you, Praetor." She smiles at me, the happy expression not at all fitting her pale and sweaty complexion.

"Thank him, not me." I gesture with a tip of my head to our 'hero' on the rooftops. I'm sure he's scowling at us from up above right now.

Saber doesn't thank him. Instead she fixes a heated glare his way. "He is the Archer of this War? One of the three knight classes?"

"You don't know that for sure."

"You have a bow?"

"Yes, and your Servant is somehow Saber despite not knowing how to properly wield a sword."

"What would a coward like you know of using a sword? Swords are for those willing to face battle head on!" She scoffs, the sound reminding me of how haughty she can be when she wants to. "Someone that stays on the sidelines would never understand the art of the blade."

"Are you speaking about yourself?" The moon shines behind him, illuminating his face for a brief moment before a cloud covers it up once more. I can clearly see the sneer he wears, the disgust he feels at hearing Saber's words. "It's obvious you've never been in a real war. Everything from your clothes to your attitude shows that to be true."

He sighs, exhaling a deep breath as he calms himself. "Enough of this." He points his crossbow at us once more.

Saber. She meets my eyes and nods. Prana flows from my hands and disperses across her body. It travels to the wounded knee and begins to stitch the flesh back together. That's the best thing to mend first. The shoulder and ribs still need tending, but with the knee fixed she'll be able to at least get out of her with me if we need to retreat.

I'm not actually doing the healing anyway. I'm just sending the prana to her and hoping she knows how to put it to good use. So she's the one making the call on what gets fixed first. Regardless, it looks like I won't be able to just walk away from here with Saber in tow. Good thing I thought of a backup plan.

"Heh. You think I'll let you heal her?" His finger depresses the trigger. He's aimed right at my chest.

I can see the metal tip of the arrow, glistening in the moonlight.

This time he doesn't close his weak eye to aid in his aim. Good, it's smarter to keep both open if you can, so as to have a better idea of what's going on around the target and to have a point of reference in your sighting. That single piece of information tells me I'm dealing with a pro, someone who's at least semi-competent with their marksmanship. I shouldn't expect anything less. He is the Archer of this War, is he not? It also tells me one other thing. He's actually going to shoot this time.

I'm almost sad I won't be able to stay to play. I doubt I could beat him one on one in a ranged battle, but it'd still be intriguing to see how his arrows matched up against modern day weaponry. Unfortunately we don't have time for that. Even Saber understands the gist of my plan. We're running, I don't plan on fighting anymore tonight. There's a protest in the back of her mind, but she avoids making it the forefront of her thoughts. Instead she focuses on the arrow that's going to be sent our way.

All of this seems to take forever. As if we were sitting here for hours awaiting the first shot. In reality that's not the case. No more than a second has passed since he declared his intentions. That's adrenaline for ya.

"Alter." As soon as I say it the lamppost I'd touched writhes in place, before extending itself so it's capable of reaching the rooftops. He gapes at the serpentine metal barreling towards him, caught off guard by the sheer absurdity of the move. The metal coalesces around his body, wrapping him in a grip that would crush a normal man.

It gives us the precious few seconds we need to get the hell out of Dodge. Saber's leg isn't healed completely, but it's secure enough that she can move (albeit with a limp). I help her along, letting her lean on me as we push our way off the streets and into a nearby building.

I pull the Pico out while moving and hold it in the hand that's not wrapped around Saber's waist. The muzzle is placed against the wood above the building's doorknob, angled so it aims right at where I assume the lock to be. With a few pulls of the trigger and a reinforced kick the door swings open. And not a moment too soon, judging from the arrow that soars over my head and into the wooded doorframe.

I rush into the room, pulling Saber along with me. A second arrow manages to come our way before I can close the door. Saber knocks it aside with a sloppy one-handed swing with her sword. In a panicked fright, I manage to slam the door shut, desperately hoping it'll provide some form of cover against the barrage likely coming our way. Christ, this guy's good. He got out of that bind in like three seconds!

"Praetor!" I don't question her, instead grabbing her by the arm (her good one of course) and jumping behind what looks to be a store's front desk. I say this because there's a cash register placed on top of it, along with what looks to be a computer. Probably keeps track of sales or some shit, don't ask me I only deal in cold hard cash.

About a dozen or so arrows shred through the front wall of the building, turning the door into splinters and carving fist-sized holes out of the concrete building. Money starts raining down on me, and it's then that I notice a single arrow managed to make its way through our cover. It punched straight through the cash register, practically causing the thing to explode by just the force of the impact alone.

So this is what it's like to be on the receiving end of a .50 cal. Not a fun experience. Especially, considering he hasn't shown much interest in reloading that goddamn crossbow of his. Did he just turn his infinite ammo hacks on? Or has he just metamorphosed into Arnold Schwarzenegger?

"Ain't it funny how quickly an ally becomes a foe?" I grouse this to no one in particularly, but Saber appears to take some measure of offense to it.

"I will stand by your side no matter what, Praetor." This is coming from the girl that can barely stand.

I sigh, completely fed up with how things have been going. "First Batman. Now Green Arrow. What's next? Superman?" At that precise moment a bloodcurdling scream shatters the night, cutting right through the dust that's gathered around us. Such is the intensity of the sound it pierces through the very atmosphere of our surroundings.

"I said 'Superman' not the Amazing Bulk! Go back to whatever Hell you came from demon!" It's a given I mirrored the shape of the cross by overlapping one of my forearms over the other.

Saber stands up from our cover, her sword appearing in her hand. The look on her face tells me she's about to do something utterly stupid. No one should look that … determined in this type of situation. I'm confident she's determined to get us both killed.

"What the hell are you standing up for?!" I grab her hand and attempt to pull her back to the ground beside me. Of course I'm a mere peon in comparison to the strength of a stubborn Servant, so I only succeed in straining the muscles in my arm.

"Praetor, I shall hold them off. It shall buy you time to–"

I don't even allow such a sentence to be finished, cutting her off completely with a rather scathing remark. "Are you a fucking moron? Sit your ass down before you get us killed!"

She looks down upon me, like some high and mighty dipshit that thinks their better than everyone. Better than me. Hah. That's a funny joke.

"Praetor, I told you what I was going to do. Be grateful towards my benevolence and–"

"Oh, screw this bullshit." I draw the Pico yet again. Saber's eyes widen in shock.

"What are you …?" Her voice trails off as she puts two and two together. I reinforce my eardrums hoping it'll work as well as it did in our last fight against a Servant. Then I unload the entire remainder of the magazine into the wall in front of us. It's an incredibly dumb thing to do, something I'm well aware of as a stray round ricochets back at me and buries itself in the desk. That's not even the worse part of it all. The shots were incredibly loud, so loud they'd draw the attention of anything living or dead within a half mile.

Now, to be fair we were already creating a big enough ruckus as is. What with the brawl between Saber and Lancer, and now this asshole shooting at us. Oh yeah, and it seems big and ugly's back in commission, judging from that scream earlier and the way the building we're in is practically shuddering.

I can only assume that's because the thing's going after Archer outside. Or maybe it's because the street party restarted amongst all this chaos and he's decided to join it. The sight would be something to behold: a monster trying their hand at the Macarena.

Something tells me it's the former and not the later. You know what that 'something' is? The sudden silence that follows my gunshots, the silence is only broken when Archer is flung straight through the wooden door and into the store with us.

He collides with the back wall, landing hard against the wallpaper with a sound that reminds me of a bug hitting a windshield. He then slides down, blood visibly trailing his descent as he eventually comes to a stop three feet from us.

I take note of his pained grimace, the utter agony on his face, and can't help but smirk.

"Sucks to be you right now, doesn't it?"

The glare he sends my way causes me to recoil in terror. The giant fist the rams through the wall behind us practically causes me to have a stroke.

"Holy Scorsese!" I don't even know what comes out of my mouth as I grab Saber's wrist and hightail it out of there, practically ripping the front door of the shop off its hinges as I make my escape.

We blitz into the street. I'm more confident in my ability to make it out of here now that I don't have a glorified sniper pinning me down. Something ahead of me boosts that confidence even further.

"Praetor, let go of me!" Oh goddammit woman will you just shut up for once and go along with what I'm doing?!

"Ok, buh bye!." I let go of her, but I don't let her go off on whatever adventure she's planning to partake in. Instead I toss her into the backseat of the Nissan I've just hijacked. The ability to bend metal to your will really makes it easy to break into any lock.

Now you may ask why I didn't do that to the shop's door. Well, it's simple. It was more fun to shoot it open.

She begins to protest, and the look on her face tells me I've succeeded in doing something most men don't have the balls to do. I brought forth the righteous fury of someone of the fairer sex. Strange, never thought this would be the thing to piss her off. Of all the things I've done this is what makes her completely mad? Psshhh. That's hilarious.

I pop the driver's lock up the same way I popped open the back's, and slide into the seat. Saber's trying to right herself in the backseat, attempting in vain to straighten her dress into a more presentable fashion. She's gonna have a difficult time doing that. What with how the article of clothing's drenched in her blood and all. While she's doing this I can quite clearly see the monster from two days prior charging at us down the asphalt. Seems like I've picked up a secret admirer. Because as the saying goes "if you love something set it free, and if it loves you back it'll return". Well, I tried to set this bitch 'free' with an RPG, and now he's come back to me. Dante x Rock Monster confirmed.

You know how I compared him already to the T-Rex in Jurassic Park? Well, this is reminding me even more of that. It's a tense situation, one that would cause greater men than I to break down in panic. What am I doing? Laughing. I'm laughing as I try desperately to hotwire the car we're in. Thankfully I picked an older model of vehicle, back when they still weren't that difficult to steal using this method.

Why am I laughing, you ask? Simple. The expression on Archer's face. You heard me right. The creature is holding him in the palm of his hand, wielding him like a makeshift club.

Have you ever seen a man so fed up with the world that he's completely unfazed when his body is used as a bludgeon? No? Well I have. Archer looks absolutely nonplussed as the creature, holding him by the legs, uses him as a golf club to smack a fire hydrant at us.

Have to admit, the thing's got a good drive. You know, with some lesson and a little bit of time I might be able to do something with him. He'd be the next Tiger Woods. The champion for all the little abominations that hide in your closet and under your bed. It'd be a great underdog story. Hollywood would eat that shit up like … the loud crash that comes from the roof of our car brings me from my thoughts.

Scratch that. I change my mind. He's a piece of shit. A real pro would have aimed for the engine to disable the automobile. This moron just tried to crush us. Lame! Am I the only one with any foresight in all of Fuyuki?!

Another loud bang as something else lands on the windshield, cracking it in the process. I'm granted the sight of a bruised and bloody Archer clearly done with life as he gives me the best 'fuck you' look I think I've ever seen in my life. Well, looks like the monster (I really need a better name for him) has the same attitude most golf players have. When you screw up, blame the club.

It's at that moment that the engine roars to life. It's also at that moment that Saber finalizes her posture. Oh, and Archer looks like he's going to strangle me as he realizes what I'm going to do.

"Sorry bud, you brought this upon yourself."

"You wouldn't –!" I slam my foot on the gas, causing the car to lurch forward.

Archer, predictably, doesn't manage to hold onto the slippery glass he's face first in. So of course he goes flying off the hood. He lands with a thud rolling once, twice, thrice, as inertia keeps him tumbling. Sadly, the poor man must not have a high Luck stat, as he lands in front of the car and not the side.

It's predictable what happens to him. What? Of course I run the cockroach over. He shot arrows at me! So what if he sort of saved our asses, he wiped my debt clean the second he tried to kill me! You don't save someone just to kill them yourself. That's not very Christian like.

There's an uncomfortable **thunk katunk** as the front set and then the rear set of tires roll over him. I could swear I heard this soft little 'aaaahhhh' sound, but that's probably me just me imagining things. No way did he manage to cry out in pain. I ran over his head, if he opened his mouth he would have eaten rubber.

Have you ever wondered how quickly a 2008 Nissan Altima can accelerate from 0 to 100? No? Well, I'll tell you anyway. Not very quickly, but still at an impressive pace nonetheless considering this isn't the ideal car for street racing.

There's a squealing of burning rubber, followed by me being jarred in place. Saber smacks her head into the back of my seat. See? Seat belts are important kids. Just take Papa Dante's word for it. Eat your vegetables and wear your seat belts and you'll become big and bastardly like me.

"What did I say about seat belts?" She grumbles at me, crossing her arms defiantly as if she'll be doing anything besides hurting herself. Which she does of course. Her shoulder's still screwed up. Idiot. She just caused her wound to flare up in pain.

I don't even bother arguing with her, instead enjoying the sound of the car's V6 engine automatically shifting gears. I almost wish it were a manual. It'd be cool to shift gears while a monster storms after me. Almost like something out of the Fast & Furious series. Except there is one reason I'm glad we're in an automatic. It gives me a free hand.

"Saber, give me that coffee thermos there." She glances at a container on the floor near her feet. Thank Pesci this car's previous owner was a slob.

"What could that possible … ?" Realization hits her like a ton of bricks. Or, like a giant monster's fist. Said fist comes down hard on the passenger's half of the car, immediately caving the roof of our vehicle in and sending us skidding away.

"How the hell did he get a speed boost?!" I snarl at the creature, who I can now see through the gaping hole in our canopy. He's straight across from us, holding the sheet of metal he stripped from us in his left hand. His shoulders move up and down as he breathes. Thing looks just like he did before. Apparently, this is the only line of work in which RPGs aren't a permanent solution to a problem. Which means we're screwed.

"Thermos me!" I extend my hand, palm open in the universal gesture of 'give me this shit now'. Saber hands it over without a single word.

"You got any long-range attacks?!"

"Humph, as if you would even need to ask. Do you take me for a–?"

"Less bragging! More attacking! Envision you're a monkey at the zoo flinging feces at obnoxious tourists!"

She makes a disgusted face, unsettled by the imagery. "Praetor, I fail to see how that could possible help."

"Just toss all your shit at him! Toss it now!"

She brings out her sword, almost cleaving me in two because of the cramped quarters we're in. "Not the sword! Don't you have anything else?!"

My response is a sheepish grin. "Mmm … no?"

"Holy John Moses Browning, woman! Fine! Throw it at him!"

"What?"

"Didn't Rome have javelin contests or some shit?!"

"Ah, you mean the Olympics?"

"I mean the 'throw your big pointy thing at him so he doesn't crush us' contest!"

She makes a bland expression at my wording before sighing. "Very well. I shall reduce the masterpiece that is my blade into a 'big pointy thing' to save us from ..."

I hit the gas while she's still monologuing. "No time, screw it! Let's just do a barrel roll!"

"A … what?"

I start speeding down the winding roads, barely making a few turns and coming seriously close to flipping in the process. "Praetor, be careful!"

"Can you think of a time in which a backseat driver is ever a good thing? Does this seem like the exception to the rule?!"

"I was merely suggesting you be more cautious in your operation of this vehicle or else we might flip." She huffs quietly to herself. "But if that is what you would prefer, by all means continue driving like a maniac and see what comes of it."

"If you must know, that's exactly my plan!"

She blinks. She fucking blinks. "Uh?" For once she's completely speechless, and this is where she's left when I make it to Fuyuki's bridge. Immediately she understands my plan, and the sheer horror on her face reminds me even Spirits can feel fear.

"Hold onto your leotards!" And that's when the creature manages to catch up with us. He'd been gaining ground with every turn I had to decelerate slightly to make, and now he's upon us. With nothing to impede his movement he was almost as fast as Saber. Almost isn't good enough.

I abruptly jerk the wheel to the right, and the monster hits us square on the passenger's side. Saber smacks her head against the backseat window, shattering it in the process. I escape slightly less bruised, instead only suffering a mild case of whiplash from the sudden shift of direction. If only that were the end of it, but no, it's just the beginning. He hit us right on the edge of the bridge.

We're all going straight into the water. Me. Saber. Even the creature. I can only hope he never learned how to swim. I have all of three seconds to morph the thermos into a makeshift oxygen tank, turning the thing into an air pocket that'll probably last all of ten seconds. But that's ten seconds that'll let me get out of this car. Ten seconds to avoid dying in a watery grave.

Water hurts. A lot. Maybe that's why people tell each other to go jump off a short pier or a bridge? Because it hurts like hell to land in the water when you're not in the proper posture (a la the cannonball). Our car doesn't hit the surface of the bay at the right angle. Neither does that Berserker, but I don't particularly care if he belly flops.

The water instantly shatters the window Saber hit, taking advantage of the damage she's already done to it. So that's the first rupture we face, and that's even before the entire vehicle becomes submerged. When that happens it rushes in from the other side of the car, the one that got damaged in the chase.

I barely manage to place the thermos over my mouth and nose before I'm hit with the freezing H20 rushing in.

All and all I can say one thing from the experience: Rose was is a bitch for making Jack suffer this.

Really, I should have done this in the summertime. It might have been at least mildly pleasant then. But now? In late autumn? It feels like I got teleported into the Ice Age. I can't imagine what this would be like in the winter.

Saber reacts … better? She doesn't immediately start shivering since Servants are essentially immune from the elements. But that doesn't stop her from freaking out. Has to be quite frightening to realize you can no longer breath. Even more so when you realize you don't have to. Which leads me to an interesting realization: Saber's been breathing even though she doesn't need to. Huh, habits are a hard thing to break.

There's also the matter of her being able to keep eyes open despite the water coming in, though I imagine that's not nearly as impressive since I'm doing it as well.

If only we hadn't taken damage to the roof. We would have had an air pocket then and I would have been able to shoot out the windshield to let us escape easier. Now we only have Saber's back window and I'm in the front.

The passenger side isn't damaged enough where I can slip out through it, and despite the canopy's injuries I would have to struggle to get out. And I really didn't want to get stuck halfway. The thought makes me shiver. Or is that the freezing water that causes that?

I can't even break my own window or the windshield. The water pressure would make it near impossible to do with my foot or fist, even with reinforcement. I need something that has a point, so I can focus all force into a single spot. What can I use …?

I'm an idiot.

Her fucking name is Saber. She has a sword. A sword I called 'her pointy thing'. Why did it take me this long to put two and two together?!

I reach back to her, clumsily fumbling for the weapon that's slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor. She stares at my vain attempts, puzzled over what I'm trying to do. I point at the sword, hoping the realization will hit her before oxygen deprivation hits me.

Now if only I could speak … I smack the palm of my hand against my forehead. _Idiot._ Saber looks at me, clearly hearing that thought through our connection.

 _Praetor?! We need to get out of here before you run out of air!_

No shit. I don't even bother thinking that thought, the disappointed look in my eyes portrays my message clear enough. _Your sword. Us it to cut through the windshield._

She blinks, her eyelids displacing the water in front of her corneas. _Could I not just slice the car in half?_

I blink, my eyelids doing the same thing hers had done. Except since I'm actually a (semi-) normal person, the act only causes my eyes to burn as they try to reacclimate to their surroundings.

 _That would work. Yes._

Cue her grabbing the sword with one hand and swinging it against the car's chassis. It doesn't cut through, instead it only gets stuck halfway into the metal.

My eyes light up in anger. _What the hell was that?!_

She stops trying to pull it out and turns towards me, exasperated over what's happened. _My arm! I could not swing it with enough force!_

Ah … she's got a point. Even now I can see the droplets of blood leaking from her and tinting the waters near her. Good thing there aren't any sharks around.

I move into a position in which I reach can into the backseat. Then, by stretching my arm as far as it can go, I manage to grasp onto the hilt of her sword. We work to pull it free, like Arthur removing Caliburn from the stone.

Then I freeze, not just literally, metaphorically too. A thought just occurred to me. _Can't you make it disappear and reappear in your hand?_ I'd seen her do that trick a few times over the past few days. Lancer had done something similar as well. Spirit form and all that.

She doesn't even bother turning to me, but judging from the unnatural red glow covering her cheeks she'd forgotten that fact in her panic. The sword becomes a swarm of particles, shifting from where it once was and coagulating back into its true form in her hand.

And that's when my air runs out.

I take a deep breath in order to calm myself, only to gasp when nothing enters my lungs. I look to Saber anxiously, glaring at the sword she's holding. My hand shoots out for it, begging for a tool to save myself. She hands it to me without hesitation.

Shit! It's unbelievably heavy. Even in the water, that simulates zero gravity, Saber's sword is far too weighty for a regular guy to use. So I won't use it as it's meant to be used then. Wouldn't be the first time I did something impractical.

I reinforce my arms and shoulders, hoping to strengthen myself past mortal limits, and then I take in a deep breath …. And instead of inhaling air I once again come up short. If the makeshift respirator hadn't been covering my mouth I would have sucked in a gulp of seawater. Instead I do something almost as bad. Continue to huff nonexistent oxygen. How the hell did I forget I'd run out of air?! My lungs burn in agony, crying out to me in the hope I'll reward them with the fuel they desperately desire. My heart dwindles in its movements, chugging continuously despite the lacking amount of material it has to work with. I'm on reserves now. And that reinforcement didn't help any.

Instead of tossing the sword at the windshield like I'd planned, I drop it onto the seat. Saber looks at this, and she looks at me, the way I'm turning purple and how I'm clawing at my throat in a desperate attempt to take in air.

 _Praetor, don't!_ She's too late, in my panic I've ripped the thermos off of my face exposing myself to the water. My lungs instinctively reach out for air, but instead of sucking that in I swallow a mouthful of saltwater. It goes down the wrong hole too. Ever choke on soda before? Remember that burning sensation when it came up your nose? Multiply that by ten. That's how I feel right now.

My last gasp of air bubbles up to the surface, floating away from me as I flail around in terror. Spots of darkness start to impede my vision, signaling that I'm getting closer and closer to blacking out.

The last thing I see is Saber's hand shooting out towards me and being unable to reach for me. That's a sight that'll haunt my dreams.

* * *

 **AN: Two updates within a week of one another?! Egad! The madman's done it! Think of this as my apology for the length of time I took to update Chapter 8. I won't be updating this frequently often, but it felt like a nice thing to do just to avoid leaving you all on a cliffhanger for an extended period of time. The next chapter's not nearly close enough to being finished so I'd expect to wait at least two weeks before I post it. And of course after that I'll be working on Transparent for quite some time so I'd expect an elongated hiatus of perhaps a month or two. Now, onto my responses to your reviews!**

 **Synthetic Knight: Once again thank you for the compliments! And I know your pain at having to wait for updates. There are so many stellar fanfics in my favorites and followed list that haven't updated in ages. And it pisses me off so much because half of them went on hiatus following a cliffhanger or when things were just starting to get good! It's like waving a juicy steak in front of a starving dog only to toss it into the garbage after teasing them. But I don't intend to do anything of the sort with this story, so at least you can rest easy knowing that while I'll be updating infrequently I won't ever stop updating XD.**

 **King0fP0wers: You wouldn't happen to be a certain Zoan user, would you lol? Yup, that's probably the greatest option of having your own account. It's much easier to keep track of what your favorite authors are doing. It also fills up your email inbox to the point that it could be considered spam XD. Speaking of Tsunderes and Rin ... well, let's just say 'Chimichanga' (at this point I don't even remember her real name anymore XD) isn't going to be the last member of the Tsundere race we see. Soon, very soon, you will see a wild Tohsaka in her natural habitat. And I hope to put a spin on the whole 'Hero of Justice' side of things. Dante's not really going to pursue that in the same fervor as the various Emiyas, nor is he going to really do it for the same reasons. To put it simply he's just open to the idea because he thinks it'll be his 'get out of jail free' card. Saving the world would seem to balance out every other bad deed you've done, wouldn't it? Which ... come to think of it does make him pretty villainous in his own rights, lol. Ditto on Tamamo. Her personality would probably get along with anyone as a Master who isn't overly evil, and while that'd make her a really lovable character it would make her sort of underwhelming. When I tossed an OC like Dante into Fate I wanted conflict and chaos dammit! How can I get that by giving him a perfect eternally faithful waifu companion?! Hence the potential for a character like Mephisto. I'm glad to hear I've actually managed of inspiring you to write! Hassan of Serenity as a Servant sounds interesting, on account of the Hassans getting so little character development in canon. And a Dead Apostle for an OC has me intrigued because of how little I know of the Tsukihime side of the Nasuverse and its inner workings. I wish you luck, and urge you not to be nervous about publishing something. After all, you could always do what I did and rewrite a story to make it better.**

 **Chayner: Well ... don't want to get your hopes up, but he's kinda sorta not a Lancer. Still 100% Vlad, albeit in a less knightly package.**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: You know I almost feel bad with how little actually happens in this fight with Vlad. It was kind of anticlimactic to be honest. But could you imagine if Dante died from his own stupidity and not from the raging maniac wielding a spear?**

 **Anthem of the Night: The answer to how our two heroes avoid impalement? Simple. Deus Ex Archer, lol. Glad to hear you enjoyed the bar scene even though it was sorely lacking in terms of the drunken Nero department. I didn't even consider it that much of a 'feels' chapter to be quite honest, but I sort of see what you mean upon rereading it once again. My best piece of advice for you would be to just have fun with what you're writing. In case it wasn't obvious I don't care much for the 'logical' or 'reasonable' portions of what goes on in my chapters. Instead I focus much more on the zaniness. It's so much more enjoyable to go balls to the walls with all sorts of ridiculous situations than it is to try and write something serious. As the saying goes "it's easier to apologize than to ask for permission". So why not apologize to yourself in the future for not writing a chapter you're 100% satisfied with rather than constantly asking yourself 'should I do this or that' and thinking about it forever. As long as you avoid writing something that's particularly atrocious. Just my two cents, hopefully it sort helps.**

 **Guest: I like how you tossed in Charisma at the lowest rank just because of that comment Dante made about how he had Charisma (despite that obviously not being the case) XD. Mental Pollution is a must have, as is Independent Action. I'd probably change his Luck rank into EX (on account of that originally meaning it's unmeasurable by normal means) and also update his NP name. I was thinking of it being something like 'Arsenal of an Anarchist' or maybe 'Armory of the Aficionado", with Dante of course having his own colloquial term for it "Wet Dream of a Texan".**

 **King Keith: Good to hear your enjoyed writing Nero, she's not the easiest character to portray but definitely one of the most unique. And I definitely had fun writing Mordred, it was hilarious thinking of how I could properly piss her off XD. Psshh, Dante has Lancer levels of Luck, lol. Ah, so you remembered Plight of the Renegade! I'm almost thinking of just having that as his second NP, it'd be passive of course. Just because I love the idea of him having an E- ranked Charisma. Could you imagine the reactions that'd get? "Why does Assassin have Charisma? And at such a low rank?! What the hell is this supposed to be used for?!" "I always wanted to be a motivational speaker when I was a young tike."**


	10. Dreams

**Disclaimer: Similar to my other story, 'Transparent', this entire chapter is going to be in the third-person perspective. Which may be good or bad depending on your preference. Also, in case it wasn't obvious, I changed the cover image to something besides nightmare fuel. Let me know if you guys feel it fits the story better or worse.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10- Dreams**

She watches over her Master as he lay before her unconscious. Somehow, Nero had miraculously managed to free him from their watery coffin. It had been a struggle. Dragging him out of the wreckage with one arm and pushing through the back window of the Nissan they'd been submerged in. But something had snapped in the small girl's mind when she saw him slump over in front of her. A call to action had gone off in her brain, forcing her to push past the pain, past the doubts, and to grab him by the wrist. _She was Nero Claudius Augustus Germanicus, Emperor of Rome. She'd been through worse. She wouldn't let it end this way._ Those were the trio of thoughts that had forced themselves upon her. A determined triplet of beliefs that assured her she could save him. They had proven to be true.

He'd been heavier than she thought he would be. Still, the strain on her shoulder had been minimal. Unfortunately, the pain in her knees had been exacerbated by the need to tread water. Now, Saber sits next to her Master on this beach, her legs splayed out in front of her. She caresses his face, all while tears trickle down her face. He's breathing. She had made sure of that as soon as she'd brought him out of the water. But repeats of Babe Watch only show you so much in how to apply proper CPR.

He's breathing, but he isn't doing so on the best of terms. "Come back to me, my Praetor." She begs the man to awaken, to sit up and utter a veritable stream of vulgarities at the situation they were in. He doesn't. Instead he just coughs up a bit of seawater, all while remaining asleep.

Saber props his head up, hoping that the increase in elevation would allow him to breathe better. She does this by using her lap as a pillow, because of course that's how trained medical professionals would recuse a drowned patient. The lap pillow is a technique highly praised in all the big doctoral textbooks. Right up there with the indirect kiss.

Nero leans back into the sand, allowing herself to relax as she waits for her Master to awaken. Her injuries had all but completely healed a few minutes prior, and that single fact is the only reason she hasn't started tearing the city down in search for a doctor that can save him. If she's healing, he's providing a steady enough flow of prana in order to allow her to heal. And if he's doing that he isn't in critical condition. He's going to pull through this. Saber believes this. But she wishes he'd pull through a bit faster.

The monster hasn't surfaced, but that doesn't mean that it has died either. The thing had probably gone into spirit form the second it'd touched water. Something that she hadn't been able of doing on account of her needing to help Dante out of the car.

Now, she can do that if she wants. But she doesn't. It's much nicer to sit here like this. Even if it isn't the aftermath she'd hoped for, at least they've both survived. "Praetor. Why did you do that?" She rubs his head, taking great delight in the softness of his blond locks.

"Why did you not leave me?" Despite saying this as if it is a bad thing, Saber can't help but beam at the man in her lap. He had not run. He hadn't charged to her rescue, perhaps, but he hadn't turned tail and retreated either. It's progress.

She closes her eyes, taking great pleasure in the peaceful end to their battle.

A vision crosses Nero's mind, an image of a small dark-haired little boy holding what could only be a youth rifle. Saber knows little of such things, but the rambling thoughts of her Master have enlightened her ever so slightly. To the point where she can at least label the firearm correctly as being a rifle.

An older man, his face covered with a salt and pepper beard and a baseball cap, helps the boy stabilize his aim. He uses his hand to push the child's back into a proper posture and pantomimes with his arms exactly how the firearm should be held. Saber doesn't understand where these images are coming from, but they flood her mind, overwhelming her senses.

The young woman suddenly feels the soft caress of woodland brush tickling her legs. Her ears pick up the babbling of a nearby brook and the chirping of birds echoing off into the distance. Without warning, an audible gunshot rings out, cutting through the peaceful serenity of the scenery surrounding her. It isn't loud enough to be discomforting, but it nonetheless stands out against the calm forest ecosystem around her.

"Left and high, Tommy. Remember to bring the rifle to you." The older gentleman is decked out in what could only be considered hunting gear. Camouflage adorns his body, a tool meant to conceal his presence in the woodlands around him. He gestures for the child to hand him his rifle. "Safety on? Chamber empty?" The boy nods, his head bobbing up and down in a comically exaggerated manner.

The man accepts the rifle from who Nero is assuming to be his son. He keeps the muzzle pointed into the distance, avoiding the possibility of an accident happening. With his finger off the trigger he checks the chamber of the carbine.

"Atta boy, Tom. Atta boy." He quietly compliments the boy without even looking in his direction. The child brightens considerably upon hearing the praise, his mouth spreading into a dopey looking grin.

Nero wants nothing more than to ask these two where she is. But something inside her forbids such a transgression. She's the audience here, and like any courteous member of the peanut gallery she's supposed to be silent. After all, if anyone ever had the gall to interrupt her art she would be disappointed, to say the least. How could she do exactly that in this situation?

Besides, this play that's unraveling before her is absolutely enrapturing. She's captivated by the interactions between these two. This father and son duo. She is watching the past train the future in the present, and that's something she can't simply interrupt.

Proper etiquette is important in these sorts of affairs, after all.

So Saber watches and listens, but does not speak. She will save her questions till the end of this performance.

"Now," the man speaks in a stern manner, hoping to make his son focus on what he's about to show him "remember, you need to bring the rifle up to your aim. Not shift your aim to compensate for the rifle's position." He demonstrates by looking intensely at what Nero can only assume to be their target, a liter of cola sitting on a rotten stump.

Then, without moving his head in the slightest, he brings the sights of the rifle up to his face. And he fires. The shot pierces through the bottle, knocking it back several feet and causing soda to gush out of it like a geyser.

"Wow!" The boy exclaims in awe, clearly impressed with his father's marksmanship.

The man chuckles, and Nero believes that right then, if his eyes were visible to her, she would see nothing but joy. "It's not that impressive, kiddo. Just takes a little practice." He flips the safety on and holds the rifle out for the boy to grab. "Here, now let's see you do it."

The boy gulps, somewhat unsure of himself, but he takes the gun from his dad and shoulders it much the same. "Remember to bring the gun to your aim and not to bring your aim to the gun. See if you can hit that pinecone there." He points to one off in the distance, the cone far smaller than the liter of soda he himself shot.

"Dad?" The boy questions his father, perplexed as to how his father could expect him to hit such a target.

The father shrugs. "You've got eight more shots. Take your time and see how close you can get."

The boy looks away from his dad, turning to the pinecone he was told to shoot. His back stiffens as he shakes like a leaf in worry. Then, his father places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You can do it kiddo. I know you won't miss."

His son's eyes widen, shocked from the confidence in his father's words. Nero can't see the older man's eyes, but she knew his son could. Something in that man's eyes changes the boy's entire demeanor. His posture straightens. He lifts his chin. Those eyes previously filled with worry harden into a determined glare, one that he directs straight at the pinecone before him.

"Thanks, dad." His tone is warm, a voice that does not match the steely gaze the boy bares.

His father chuckles once again. "Don't thank me. Just believe in yourself."

The boy nods, once, twice, three times. It's a stiff movement, nothing like the head bobbing he'd done previously.

He focuses his vision on the pinecone off into the distance. Then he raises the rifle's sights to his eye, copying the exact way in which his father took aim. There's a brief moment in which he steadies his breath, measuring exactly how much of a window he has to take the shot between his breathing.

A loud _crack_ echoes off into the distance, stirring a few birds from a nearby tree.

The boy flips the safety on his rifle, and points it's muzzle at the earthy soil.

There lies the pinecone, twenty yards away, fractured into three smaller pieces. He'd hit it right in center mass.

"Good job, kiddo!" Pride swells within the boy at the sound of his father's praise. The older man pats him energetically on the back.

"Now. Go ahead and hit it again."

The boy freezes in place. His shoulders slumping in defeat. "Daaaadddd …." He whines. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

The middle-aged man slaps him upside the back of his head. "Language!" He cries testily, upset by the wording of his child. The father crosses his arms over his chest as he watches his son rub the back of his head to soothe it.

"What did I say? Believe in yourself! And believe in your rifle!" A massive grin splits his face, as he bares his teeth wide for the world to see. All Saber sees of this man is a beard, a hat, and a wide smile. A vague image of his identity, but one that will stand out in her mind. "If it's aim is true and your sight is solid you shall never miss!"

The boy groans, clearly having heard this pep talk before. "But daaaadddd …. I miss all the time!" Another bitch slap greets his complaints.

"And that is because you spend more time whining and less time trying! Believe you can do it and you will!"

The boy sighs deeply, completely disregarding the advice his old man gave him. Yet he shoulders his rifle, albeit while muttering a few choice expletives regarding the situation he's found himself in.

"That's it! You've forced my hand! We're having my famous nine pepper chili for supper!"

The boy whips his head around so he can properly stare in wide-eyed shock at his father. "Not the Nine Circles of Hell!"

"Mwahahaha!" The man's evil cackle wafts through the canopy of the forest around them. It's abruptly cut short when he realizes what his son had said. "The only reason I'm not smacking you is because you used it in proper context. However, say it again and I'll …." The man flexes his hands menacingly. "Wring the life from you, you little brat~" The singsong voice that emanates from him does not at all fit his look.

"Now! Pull the trigger, baby!"

The boy shudders in disapproval of his father's command. Nonetheless, he complies. Taking aim at the left fragment of the cone and squeezing the trigger of his .22.

 _Crack!_

It just barely hits, the shot grazing the side of the pinecone and ricocheting into the woods.

"Eh?" The man picks at the inside of his ear. "Did you even fire? I didn't hear anything?"

The boy takes that as a cue to shoot again.

 _Crack!_

This time he misses completely, the bullet launching a clump of dirt into the air upon impact.

"Wow, you couldn't hit the broad side of a moisture evaporator!"

"What ever happened to "believing in yourself"?!"

"Hmm?" The older man scratches his scalp. "You must not believe **that** much in yourself if a little quip like that gets your panties in a twist!"

"What the hell is wrong with you, you deaf daft bastard?!"

"What the hell did you call me you shitty punk?!"

"You just said it!"

"What?" The man questions, as he attempts to not-so-convincingly whistle innocently.

"You just cursed!"

"Like hell I did you fucking shit!"

"You just did it again!"

"At least I did something, you're just sitting over there with your trigger finger up your ass!"

"I'm going to use this trigger finger on you, you bastard!"

"I'd like to see you try, you'd probably miss!"

"That's enough!"

A third voice rings out. A feminine one. And just like that, a woman arrives, seemingly from nowhere. She grabs both males by the scruffs of their necks. And she does something that causes Saber to balk. She slams their skulls together. _Bonk._ It sounds exactly like two coconuts being banged together.

"I leave you numbskulls alone for a few months and this is what you get up to?" The growl that comes out of her mouth does not compliment her in the least. A slender, well-endowed woman, with long chestnut colored hair tied into a ponytail. Her appearance is the exact opposite of the older man. While he looks like he just crawled his way out of a jungle, she looks as if she just walked straight off a runway.

"Dang. I thought you were going to be gone for a few more days?" The man groans while rubbing the back of his head. Saber's unsure as to whether this is brought about by the blow that struck him or the woman's arrival. Perhaps both?

The woman scoffs. "After seeing what you've been up to? I wish I'd have come back sooner."

The man raises a finger into the air, opening his mouth to protest. He's silenced when his son cries out in joy. "Mommy!" The smaller boy runs up to his mother, grabbing her waist and hugging it tightly.

She pats the boy's head, chuckling to herself over the boy's antics. Then she tenses up. "Dammit, David. What did I tell you?" She glares intensely at the man she'd addressed as 'David'. "I will not have my son handling these … these **crude, primitive, uncivilized** –!"

David meets her glare, cutting her off before she delves deeper into her rant. _This is getting good._ Saber thinks to herself. _If only I had a morsel to snack on, then I'd be content._ A bag of popcorn would have hit the spot while watching the soap opera level dialogue going down.

"One month. Bring him back to me safe, Claudia."

 _Claudia._ That name causes a shiver to run up Nero's spine. How many women close to her were named Claudia? Her first wife. The slave girl she had an affair with early in her marriage. Her … daughter …. _No! Do not remember that!_ Saber forces those memories from her mind, seeking to avoid a crippling headache that could send her into a panic. She cannot allow that. Not now. Not here. Not amidst the performance before her. _This is not the same Claudia. Claudia was never a mother. Never allowed to be a mother. They are not one in the same!_ And with that she drives those unpleasant memories away. Sending them back out to sea. Adrift in the lonely ocean known as her subconscious.

"I won't ever forgive you if you don't." David speaks as if he's swallowing a bitter fruit. The scowl on his face is the epitome of the word 'displeased'. He moves to his son, ignoring the hard look Claudia gives him. "Listen, kiddo. Be good. Don't go too far. Ok?"

The boy nods, the emotion in his eyes shifting from happiness to sadness when he realizes his father wouldn't be coming with him.

"Alright." His father offers a forced grin. "When you get back we'll come back here and continue where we left off."

Claudia opens her mouth to argue that point, but once again she's cut off by David, who looks at her with a face that could melt ice. "Whether your mother agrees, or not."

And with that he huffs off, walking away from the pair and deeper into the woods. Only stopping to pick up the Ruger 10/22 rifle his son had dropped on the ground in his haste to meet his mother. He waves goodbye without turning back to them, the final words he says resound throughout the clearing. "After all, she didn't need my approval to do this. Why should I need hers?" And he's gone, disappearing into the surrounding brush with nary a sound.

The woman grimaces at his departure, but that look of apprehension fades once she looks down to her son. "Ignore him, Thomas." She tries her best to smile for the boy, but the sight is even more forced than the grin his father had given him before leaving. "I already have all your stuff in the car. So we won't need to stop by the house before leaving." The boy doesn't answer, instead he keeps looking at the spot in the forest his father had walked into.

"London's going to be great!" The woman's forced cheer comes off as incredibly cheesy, even to Saber's (the King of Ham's) ears. "We can see Big Ben and the Royal Palace! You've seen pictures of those funny hats the Queen's guard wear, haven't you?" The boy nods, still not meeting her eyes.

"Well, you'll get to see them in person. It'll be sooo much fun~" She chirps in a sing-song voice, failing miserably to draw the boy's interest. She coughs when she realizes it's pointless.

"And you'll get to meet some of my, err, colleagues." She plasters an eager grin on her face, hoping to gain the boy's interest. "They're a … colorful bunch." The woman quickly waves her hands placatingly in the hopes of dissuading any suspicions that might arise in her son's mind at that description. "But you'll be able to learn so much from them! So much that you'll–!"

Her son cuts her off with a flat look. "Ok, mom. Let's go." His voice is dripping with disgust. He sounds like a carbon copy of his father, and the sheer wrongness of this causes his mother to go pale.

She gapes like a dying fish, shocked that her son could be so rude to her. A fake cough into her fist breaks the moment. "Yeah … let's get going Thomas." She sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's going to be a long flight."

She walks in front of the boy and off in the opposite direction his father had gone. He follows her without a word, the shuffling of his feet rustling the dead leaves lining the ground.

Saber is watching this sight in anticipation. Surely, there will be an interesting climax to this story. The father will charge back from the brush, grasp his son in open arms and liberate him from his mother's clutches. Or … perhaps the mother will turn around and with a rousing speech she'll boost the boy's morale, winning him over to her side. Better yet, why not have both? The father and mother, reuniting with a passionate kiss, their words of anger and spite falling to the side as the two lost lovers rejoin each other's side.

None of this happens, much to Saber's disappointment. Instead, the boy is led to a limo parked amongst the trees a few hundred feet away. The white paint of the vehicle is coated with a healthy application of dirt and grime, and the windshield is practically covered with squashed insects.

"Bloody hell, why did we have to come to such a godforsaken place! Is America still stuck in the Carboniferous period!" The man who can only be a butler (judging from his suit, bowtie, and white gloves) swats at a mosquito buzzing around his ear. "Blasted bugs! I put an entire can of insectide on. What does it take to kill these bastards! Anthrax!"

The man freezes when he notices Claudia and Thomas arriving. He greets them with an impromptu salute, his eyes bulging comically when the mosquito lands on his cheek.

"Ma'am!"

"At ease, Jeremiah."

Without hesitation the man smashes the palm of his hand against his cheek, squashing the mosquito and leaving a rather large blot of blood on both his face and his glove.

"Is this your son, Madame?"

The woman straightens her back, her entire posture shifts upon making her presence known to this Jeremiah fellow. It dawns on Saber that this man must be her servant. It makes sense she's more formal with him.

"That he is. That he is …." Her eyes linger on the small child's bored expression.

"It looks as if Mister Davy spoiled him. How … troublesome."

The woman grumbles, not at all pleased by the indirect insult he's tossed her son's way.

"Go fuck yourself you pussyfooted fossil." No one is prepared for the vile words that leave the boy's mouth. For a child no older than ten, he has a tongue laced with venom.

The balding butler blubbers in terror at how he's been addressed so … harshly. "Madame …? Can we leave him here? He fits in with the wildlife."

The woman glares. Hard. "Shut up Alfred. Just drive."

The butler's shoulders slump. "That's not my name ..." He mumbles under his breath, too cowardly to audibly voice his complaints.

"Would you rather I call you Jerry?"

The blank look on the man's face is the perfect response to Claudia's question.

"Please refrain from doing so, Madame."

"Come on Jerry, ole bean, let's get this show on the road." Thomas pipes in, a pseudo-English accent lacing his words.

"Yes, Jerry, let us be off. We still have to drive to the airport after all." His mother plays along, likely enjoying a chance to bond with her son. At the expense of her servant's dignity of course.

Grumbling under his breath, the balding manservant opens the door for his passengers to enter. Thomas goes first, sliding into the seat without waiting for his mother's approval. She tuts at the boy's manners, but nonetheless sits down next to him without much verbal complaint.

Jerry closes their door before walking towards the driver's side and opening his own door.

"Thank the Lord that I'll be free from this place." As he opens the door a pinecone falls from the heavens and smacks him on the top of his head. "Ow!" He cries, rubbing his wounded noggin. "Why you little–!" He looks up to where the cone had come from only to lock eyes with a chortling chipmunk. "In the name of all that is–!" The rodent knocks a second pinecone down, this one landing on the ground when Jerry takes a step back.

Saber can't help but chuckle at this, caught off guard by the Chip and Dale type of humor that's occurring before her.

"Is that the best you have, you little rat?!" Cue a dozen or so pinecones hitting him at once. "Godforsaken vermin!"

"Jerry! Stop playing with the squirrels and get in the car!"

"Mom, those are chipmunks."

"Oh? Are you sure about that? They look more like squirrels to me."

"Yeah, see how they have a stripe? Dad teaches them tricks and stuff."

"Your father does what?! Jerry get in this automobile at once! My son needs a bath!"

"Yes, Madame!" The butler salutes once again, despite being bombarded with a few more well aimed pinecones. He then shuffles into the driver's side, closing the door to save himself from one last Hail Mary launched his way. "Blasted forest. What kind of uncivilized ruffian would live in such squalor?"

"Jerry?" The ice in his mistress' voice shakes the butler's very soul. "I suggest you shut up and start the car."

"Yes, Madame."

This's the last Saber hears of the conversation, courtesy of her inhumane hearing, before the vehicle starts and the limo began to pull out of the forest.

She watches them go, curious as to who they exactly are and confused as to why she's been brought to this place to witness these events.

Sadly, this is not the end of this tale. It's merely the first act.

She's allowed nary a second to contemplate the implications of her being here before the world seems to shatter. The trees twist, warping straight out of this plane of existence. The slight smell of gunpowder lingering in the air, the calming bubbling of the nearby brook, the chattering of wild animals sitting in the trees, all of it disappears. Replaced by what Saber can only describe as a lifeless hell.

Act two takes place in a scorched desert stretching out as far as the eye could see. Shrapnel litters around the landscape. Craters are carved into the earth, dotting the land so frequently that it looks more akin to the surface of the moon than any place on Earth. Sand blows into her face; her eyes water from the mild stinging sensation.

"What is this? Where am I?" She asks to no one in particular, taking note of the emptiness of the apocalyptic setting she's been thrust into. And then, as if the gods themselves were answering her, a barrage of artillery fire sounds off in the distance. The thrusters of what can be no less than a thousand rockets flare off as they soar in the sky above Saber's head.

She watches in awe at the subtle beauty of these modern day scorpios, as they remind her almost of distant stars twinkling in the night's sky. Saber makes one mistake here. She's ignorant of the purpose of these missiles. Somewhere, deep in her mind addled by self-centeredness, she has an inkling of dread. Some small sixth sense that informs her that these were not fireworks set off to celebrate her arrival. But Saber doesn't listen, instead she enjoys the view she has a front row seat too. Up until these rockets careen back to the earth.

The concussion from this attack would have knocked a normal person to their knees, and as such Saber can only pity any poor soul that's been caught in the sights of such a monstrosity. She can't even see the blast zone, and that tells her more than enough about these weapons. For there to be such a thing, a barrage of cannon fire capable of hitting targets kilometers away, she must have been summoned into a particularly gruesome time.

And that disgusts Saber. She despises war, despite being summoned to partake in one. It is an ugly sight, and something that only creates unnecessary bloodshed in the long run. These are the thoughts that ramble along Saber's brain. "War is bad" "It is ugly" and "I must stop this." These three thoughts.

She's forgotten the argument her Praetor had made in favor of war. It hadn't been a compelling argument to her in the least, and as such she's tossed it aside like so many other pointless pieces of drivel she'd had to hear in her reign as emperor. There's no time for semantics when such an atrocity is taking place.

She moves towards the source of the bombardment, rushing with all the speed she can muster. She doesn't even notice the complete loss of the wounds she'd suffered in the battle against Lancer. Doesn't even notice how she runs not out of her own free will, despite thinking such, but out of a tugging compulsion that drives her to relocate to the origins of such a cannonade.

She freezes once she realizes what she's stumbled across. An army. Of less than a hundred men.

But for what they lack in numbers, they certainly do not lack in armaments. Rifles, just like the one Dante had used, are slung across their backs. Pieces of artillery are positioned across what could only be their base of operations. These men laugh. They cheer. They joke. She watches them as they begin to reload the vehicles that idle nearby, a contributing factor to the shells that had rained down a few moments ago.

One man stands out amongst the rest. A young Caucasian man with dark black hair strung into a short ponytail. His eyes shine with jubilance as another man, one of Arab descent claps him heartily on the back in joy.

"It worked, Thomas! We hit right on target!"

 _Thomas?_ He'd referred to him as 'Thomas'. Is this the same boy she'd just witnessed? Is this where life has led him? Saber isn't given any time to ponder the implications this holds. The scene continues to unfold before her without any regard for her unanswered questions.

Another man strides up to the Arabian, his face covered completely by a balaclava. "Raman, Lady Tohsaka's trying to call. What should I tell her?"

Raman grins, his teeth sparkling in the desert sun. He winks at Thomas, who seems curious about what's happening.

The balaclava covered man hands a smart phone to his commander, who immediately hits the speaker button on the phone so everyone can enjoy what's about to happen.

"Why the hell are you in Yemen, you idiot?!"

Raman holds a finger up to his lips to silence the roar of laughter coming from his men. "Yemen? Mistress Tohsaka, I feel you should recheck the GPS. My men and I have been in the outskirts of Dubai for the past three weeks. Clearly there is something amiss her if …."

"Listen to me. You. Complete. Fool. I placed a gem in your bag. I've been tracking you for the past three weeks."

The barely stifled laughter in the background utterly ceases at the revelation. Until it reignites, with only once voice chuckling now. The only one that is unrelated to this very tense 'gotcha' moment.

"Holy shit, Raman! Remind me never to directly work for her!"

"Who is that?! Raman, you have a lot of explaining to do! Why did you stop in Pakistan for two days?! Why are you now in Yemen of all places?!"

No answer comes, as Raman and his balaclava comrade are playing hot potato with the phone in the hopes that someone else will have to take the blame for this.

"Just tell the poor girl, Ra. Otherwise she'll blow an even bigger gasket."

"Can you not read the mood, my friend! We'll all be skinned alive if we so much as–!"

"General Raman." The frigid iciness in which she calls his name solidifies the blood in everyone's veins, save for Thomas and Saber. The ponytail sporting man is still grinning cheekily as he bites his tongue to avoid making an inciteful remark.

"Tell me. What you have been doing. Right. Now!" That voice. It tells the men one thing. Lucifer is not a man. 'He' surely must be a woman, because he's speaking to them in a very feminine voice at the moment.

"Lie!"

"Lie to her, Ra!"

"Don't tell her the truth!"

"You can do it!"

A dozen or so men attempt to coax their leader into fibbing. Their attempts almost work too, if not for one soldier speaking up too loudly.

"For the love of all that is good, do not tell her we came to Yemen to buy MGM-140 rocket artillery from some shady dude in the desert!"

Silence. Complete. Utter silence. The air seems to just displace, trapping these poor men in a vacuum cut off from sound. Even the oxygen wants no part of the rant that's about to go down.

"Rocket. Artillery. You traveled to Yemen. Without telling me and **certainly** not on my orders. To buy rocket artillery vehicles from some 'shady dude in the desert'." It isn't a question per se, but more of a restatement. Almost as if the young lady is trying to process the absurdity of what she's just been told.

"Well, in his defense, I'm not really a 'shady dude in the desert'. I kind of just came her because I had a contact around here that could set up the deal. So …."

"Was I asking you, you sniveling worm of a man?"

Thomas whistles at the sheer ferocity in the girl's tone. "Two things. One, Raman, this witch of yours just doubled the price of my goods."

"But–!"

"No buts, I don't take insults like that lightly." He directs his next sentence to the Tohsaka on the phone. "You should get to know people better before tossing baseless remarks like that at them. Some people in my line of work would react less … civil, than I."

All at once the soldiers ready their weapons, focusing their aim on the man that's just indirectly threatened the girl they apparently follow. Even Raman draws his pistol from its holster as he glares at Thomas heatedly.

"Two, I'm guessing your Rin Tohsaka, leader of that Hack & Slash terrorist group?"

Rin audibly grinds her molars on the other end of the line. "That's 'Hack & Crack' you–!"

"Well in that case the price tripled."

Jaws drop across the board. Even Saber can't help but gape at the bravery of the man for saying something so ballsy in the midst of armed men.

"What are you–?!"

Thomas cuts off the random mook that's piped up, completely disregarding the man as worthy of debating. "I'm giving you lot top of the line gear at an eighth of the standard cost. With this shit you'll be on the level of the U.S. of A's ground troops. And instead of prostrating your miserable little grimy selves before me you've insulted me, crushed the good spirits I was in, and generally pissed me off."

He raises an eyebrow as he frowns. "If this is how you morons do business, well, I'm not at all surprised you're losing the fantasy football-esque war you've thrown yourselves in."

The girl on the other side of the phone seems to be choking on something, either a drink or air itself. She takes a deep, loud, breath in order to calm herself and then releases it as she begins to lay into the arrogant man child that's dared to speak to her in such a way.

"Listen to me you slimy, good for nothing, piece of garbage! No one, and I repeat no one, dares talk to me in such a way! I am Rin Tohsaka, Hero of the Resistance, and I will not have a glorified gun dealer treat me like a common grunt!"

"Well, then, all I can tell you bitch is that you better get used to it. Or else take your business someplace else and see how much you're going to have to pay."

"I don't even want artillery! What the hell could I do with that?!"

"A wise man once said 'artillery is the god of modern war'. You saying such a statement tells me you know nothing of combat. You call yourself a hero? What have you done that's remotely heroic? Name me one thing?"

"She's been in every battle! Every victory has been because of her!"

Thomas turns to Raman with a cold hard stare. "Bullshit, Ra. How many of these soldiers have stood by your sides in those battles as well? How many of them do you recognize as being a 'hero'?"

"But without her we couldn't have won!"

"And with her you can't even get proper equipment to continue winning!" He snarls, going so far as to spit in the sand to show his disgust.

"Dorobō was right, it was a terrible idea to deal in the Middle East. I'm hot, there's sand in every crevice of my body, and I'm thoroughly parched. I came here to give some undeserving stooges a bargain and to make a quick buck. Instead I'm getting drama that's far less amusing than I hoped, courtesy of a bratty teenager that doesn't have a clue."

He starts to dial a number on his cell phone, bringing the device to his ear upon doing so. It rings. Once. Twice. And then–

"Raman. Is he telling the truth? Is he really giving us a deal here?" Tohsaka asks a question that tells Thomas something he'd already been sure of. She has no idea what she's getting herself into here. At least she has the brains to consult with someone that does.

"Yes, Mistress. Even at twice his original price we're still getting an excellent deal."

"What's the actual price we're talking about?"

"Millions. Per vehicle."

A long sigh sounds out from the phone. It sums up Rin's opinion on this debacle quite well.

"There's other ways to pay besides cash."

Everyone focuses on the man still holding his phone to his ear. He's been doing this throughout the entire exchange between Raman and Rin. Somewhat suspicious considering the phone's stopped ringing. No one notices this though, instead they wait with bated breath to hear what he's about to say.

"What 'other ways'?"

Thomas shrugs at Tohsaka's question and then, upon realizing she can't see him, he replies. "You could use your body."

A large bead of sweat drops from Raman's brow when he hears his friend say this. "Thomas!" He whispers, hoping it'll stop Rin from hearing him. "What in the hell did you just say?!"

"What the hell did you just say?!" Rin doesn't whisper. She screams. Really, really, loudly.

"Can any of you even fathom how much value the nudes of a terrorist mastermind would be worth?"

"That's not something I feel comfortable even considering."

"Oh, shut it Ra. You're telling me the thought hasn't crossed your mind? Imagine how much influence something like that could have in terms of propaganda."

"Thomas …." Raman's voice is dangerously low, he's warning Thomas to drop this subject before things get even worse.

"Have none of your ever heard the phrase 'there's no such thing as bad publicity'? Hell, just take a picture of her tits, plaster it on the web, and watch as millions of otakus march to war in her honor. Genius, no?"

"No! You accursed fool! How dare you say something like that to me?!"

"So does that mean you won't be giving me your nudes in exchange for enough missiles to wipe North Korea off the face of the Earth?"

"Never!"

"How about a back massage? I'm starting to feel a little sore."

"Go die!"

"Can I get the massage first? I'll consider the dying part afterwards."

"Please be serious Thomas." Raman rubs his temple, hoping to stop the oncoming headache that's sure to plague him. His soldiers are stuck in a strange place. On one hand, they very much want to laugh at this conversation. On the other hand, they know they'll be facing a firing squad if they do.

"Fine. How about information? Give me enough and I'll slash the cash price in half."

Everyone weighs his words in their head, contemplating whether or not this could potentially be worth it. Tohsaka is the one that replies, as she's the leader of this ragtag organization. "What kind of information?"

"Oh, just your measurements. Bust, waist, and hip measurements. Maybe your blood type too. The public surely wants to know."

Silence. Complete. Utter. Silence. And to everyone's surprise, the young lady known as Rin Tohsaka does not erupt in anger at the joke. "I'm sure they would. But that's not what you want really, is it?"

Thomas smiles, somewhat impressed by the girl for finally succeeding in keeping her calm. "No, it isn't. I'm more interested in a little side project I have in mind."

"What type of 'side project' are we talking about here?"

"You're probably unfamiliar with it Ra, but I'm sure 'Lady Tohsaka' will know what I'm talking about."

He inspects the dirt underneath his fingernails before elaborating.

"The Holy Grail War."

Everyone's perplexed by this. Everyone except for Rin. She has to fight back the urge to gasp in shock. Some nobody gunrunner actually knows about the Grail? Impossible!

"I'd like to know it's location, the basic premise behind it, the rules, and generally any other important tidbits of trivia you can throw in." He starts biting his thumb. "Give me this and I promise I won't quadruple your price."

For a while, no one answers. It's simple as to why. No one knows what he's talking about besides Rin. And she's gone dark upon hearing his demands. Finally, she seems to come up with a proper reply.

"I want the original price. Give me that, and I'll tell you whatever you want." Her voice is completely calm, it masterfully hides the anxiety she feels in her heart.

"Twice the price or no deal. You insulted me even more, and I view customer service in the highest of regards."

"We're the customers, you're the seller."

"I'm giving you goods, you're giving me income. We're both customers in our own rights. And therefore, business should be conducted in a respectable if not downright amicable manner. Would you not agree?"

A grunt from the girl is all he gets in response. "Alright. I assumed my men were off doing something stupid. Which they were!" She quickly tosses in to cut off any arguments. "I wasn't expecting an outsider to be around. I may have … been too bold with my words. Forgive me."

Have you ever seen armed guerrilla fighters drop to the dirt and claw at their ears in terror? No? Well, that happens.

"What the hell did I just hear?!"

"I must be going deaf! I must be dying!"

"My brain hurts! It hurts!"

"The world is ending, pray for salvation, we're all going to die!"

"Get off of your asses you idiotic buffoons, we're in the presence of Lady Tohsaka and you're acting like this?!" Raman silences their ridiculousness before it can continue, growing tired of the charade.

"I didn't ask for an apology. It's wasted on a man such as I." No one knows what to say to that. Not even Tohsaka, ever diverse with her wordplay, can bring herself to come up with a clever quip. "All I ask is assurance that we'll have a timely transaction. Now, like I said, twice or no deal. And that's me being nice."

The maniacal grin on his face does't seem at all 'nice'.

"I assume you wish for us to be repeat customers, no? Wouldn't it be clever to cut a deal with us the first time so as to keep us as partners?"

"You're a smart cookie when you're not running your mouth. I can relate. Unfortunately, you're assuming I care remotely about keeping you as customers." He wags a finger at their apparent mistake. "You see, I know Ra, he and I go back. But I could care less about his pet projects."

The dark-haired man shrugs. "And I have enough buyers to keep me fat and happy for the rest of my days." His eyes narrow in disgust. "And you know what? None of them use child soldiers to fight their battles for them." It's an accusation. One of the highest degrees. Something that Thomas clearly does not perceive in a good light. If the hatred in his voice is anything to go by.

"Child soldiers? What are you?" A blink in realization as Raman comprehends what his friend means. "You're talking about the kids that endorse us on social media. And those that go farther by trying to provide information. They're not child soldiers. Maybe activists, but not soldiers."

"I know that, and that's why I'm even bothering to attempt a deal like this with you all." He continues chewing his nails. "But it still doesn't sit right with me."

"There's not much we can do to fix it. But I'll see about trying. Maybe cutting back on the campaign ads aimed towards younglings." Rin's voice rings out clearly for all to hear.

"Well, then I'll cut you a deal. All the information I requested and the cash price I originally stated. Just like you asked."

"That is … fine. I'll contact you in the future and answer whatever I can and arrange for the funds to be wired to you as soon as possible. Raman, take those vehicles and get them ready for transportation. I trust you have a plan for getting them back to India?"

"Of course I do. Do you even know who you're talking to?"

"An idiot that didn't tell me he was leaving the country, set up a deal with an unknown weapons merchant, and attempted to bargain with money that wasn't his to even bargain with."

"Nope. Not happening." Thomas shoots down that proposal after they finish their bickering. "Half the merch now. Half after I have my answers. That's common courtesy, is it not?"

Rin doesn't argue, instead sighing heavily as she wordlessly accepts his counterproposal.

"And try to go easier on Ra, it's not like he's been staging a coup d'état or anything."

Nervous chuckling comes from Raman, and he whispers underneath his breath to the man in front of him. "Do you want me to suffer even more?! If she takes that serious my every move will be watched! How am I supposed to take a leak when the walls have eyes?!"

"Very carefully, and proudly I might add." Thomas whispers back, albeit with a far less somber tone.

"Now, with that done I bid you adieu. It was a pleasure doing business with you, I hope to do so again. Nice seeing you Raman. Be sure to take care." He turns away and looks to the horizon where a car is zooming towards their location. "Oh, and Rin-chan? I hope you remove that stick out of your ass before our next discussion, or else I might have to be even rougher."

And with that he begins walking into the desert, towards the Mercedes that barrels towards him. "Arrivederci~!" He waves goodbye to them without turning back, continuing his journey forward.

Time seems to stop with this mock farewell complete. Almost as if Saber is watching a movie that's been put on pause. It gives her a much-needed breather, one that she intends to take advantage of wholeheartedly.

Numerous thoughts run through her mind. ' _Why am I here?'_ Is the most prominent one, forcing its dominance upon the others and making the more ridiculous notions like ' _Did I just stop time? I must be a god!'_ submit. Her brain works on overdrive to come up with a logical solution to this, but even with the obvious importance of finding the answer her thoughts wander constantly into the realm of the moronic.

Why is this happening? Why is Saber acting like a moth tapping into a light bulb?

Simple. Her migraines.

They've been something she's faced in silence. A disorder she's avoided revealing to her Praetor despite the importance in doing so. They've decreased in their occurrences, to the point that Saber had thought them to be stopping.

But here, in whatever place she's found herself in, these headaches are increasingly prevalent. The previous image of a boy and his parents had been peaceful, it had been tranquil despite it's sad overtones. The threat of a migraine had only started at the mention of 'Claudia'. And once she'd shook that name from her mind she'd been allowed to rest easy. Yet now, in this world torn apart by war, she's found herself unable to process anything but the sights in front of her. These thoughts that flow through her brain juggle amongst themselves for supremacy, but even still she cannot focus on a single one.

The headaches simple do not allow it.

This is the worst she's ever experienced them. Worse than when Poppaea had died. Worse than the aftermath of Seneca's death. Worse than when the crowd had attempted to leave her performance mid-scene.

Worse than the day she had her mother executed.

Worse than the day she learned Rome was burning to the ground.

Worse than the day her daughter had died.

It isn't the pain, so much as the intense feeling of helplessness that overwhelms her as she findsherself unable to properly think.

 _This Tohsaka girl certainly has a shrill voice, but I find myself impressed with how she has managed to gain the loyalty of her …._

 _What was the purpose of this senseless act? Why sell weapons of war to people such as this? This 'Thomas', he promises nothing but misfortunate with these acts. How can he live with himself knowing …._

 _Perhaps Dante was right. I still find the use of those missiles detestable, but even I cannot argue there was some simplistic and gruesome beauty in their usage. Why, if one were to use them for something less destructive than war, I might even find myself appreciating their …._

 _Where am I? Who am I? Where is Praetor? Where is Seneca? Mother? Is that you?_

Fortunately for Nero, this amalgamation of Limbo and Hell ends just as quickly as it began. Her thoughts subside as the scene begin to shift, melting away into something anew.

She finds herself in the third act of this pitiful play, and the drastic shift of tone and scenery causes the migraines that plague her to subside into a dull ache.

The scent of incense is the first thing she notices. She's in a dimly lit room. Various vapors and colored smoke waft throughout the room. Dull chanting is heard emanating from the darkness. It acts as the heartbeat to this opium den like setting she's found herself in.

"Our Prophet thanks you for your blessings. May the Enlightened One bring good fortune to your–"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Spare me the rhetoric. I came here to get paid not to get a sermon."

That voice. It's Thomas. Saber sees him standing off in the distance, speaking to a stooped over old man. She moves to get closer, waving aside the clouds of incense smoke that pollute the air.

Thomas looks … somewhat younger than the last time she's seen him. He's minus the ponytail, and instead sporting a stylish slicked back hairdo. Not only that but it's a chestnut color. Strange. He actually looks somewhat like a used car salesman. Except … angrier? Something in his eyes threatens violence, as if he's constantly holding back the urge to assault someone. Saber barely recognizes him, the only thing giving him away are his honey colored eyes. They're the exact same shade they were when he was a child. Perhaps his attitude is just because of his current company. The man he's speaking to is even shadier looking. He looks more like a snake oil vendor, with his wrinkled forehead and unsettling grin. His eyes are half-lidded as if he's half-asleep. Or … under the influence of some sort of stimulant.

"Ah, but of course. Right this way." Thomas is led out of the gloomy room they've found themselves in. Saber follows the two through a passageway to the side, taking note of the droplets of water dripping off the ceiling. She doesn't know it but she's currently underground. In a crypt-like premises built underneath the countryside of rural Japan.

"We don't get many that are willing to do business with our kind. The Prophet will surely smile upon you for helping us with our … problem."

Thomas remains silent, contemplating how he should properly reply to such a statement. "I'm … overjoyed to be of help." His voice drips with sarcasm, of which the older man remains completely oblivious.

"So polite. I wish more outsiders were as tolerant of our beliefs as you. The world would be a much nicer place."

They come to a door, one which is bolted shut from the opposite end. The wrinkled man lightly raps his knuckles against the wood. Once. Twice. Three times. Before patiently waiting for his so-called gatekeeper to open it.

With an eerie _creak_ the door slowly swings open. Thomas makes no mention of this, something that Saber cannot help but be impressed by. She has to bite back a yelp in horror at the sheer creepiness of this place.

They shuffle forward, past the man that was probably the one to open the door. He's covered head to toe in robes, which don't look all the different from the robes worn by Franciscan monks. This man doesn't react in any way as Thomas and his guide walk past. He makes no move to greet them, not even nodding his head to acknowledge their presence.

Thomas' guide treats him the same, treating the man as if he were invisible and continuing forward without any mention of his existence. Thomas does things differently.

"You must be a part of the Brotherhood. Kill any Templars lately?" He asks the man a question, one which he doesn't expect to be answered. Surprisingly there is a response.

"Continue forward in silence." A command, as if the man has any authority in this matter.

Thomas chuckles, unnerved by the hollow sounding tone of the man's voice and continues forward, following his guide. Of course, he does subtlety rebel against the cloaked figure's commands. He flips him the bird as he walks away, a silent form of protest against the antisocial treatment he's received.

Saber stops in her tracks, looking over the featureless man that opened the door. Something about him feels … off. She can't see his face but she feels like he's staring right into her eyes despite her not really being present. It's disturbing.

She stops observing the now silent voyeur and picks up her pace to catch up to Thomas and the man leading him through this haunted house sort of environment.

"Here we are."

"Finally." Thomas sighs, likely out of relief. The older man opens yet another door blocking their path and reveals something that gives Saber mixed emotions.

She's confused.

Creeped out.

And … jealous?

Before her is a spacious room carved out of what appears to be granite. It's right then that Saber realizes they're in some sort of underground cave system, and that the facility she's found herself in must be an extension to the natural rock structure itself. The air is shallower here. Thinner. It's harder to breath, almost as if she were standing atop an unconquerable mountaintop. Here, just like in the increased elevation of a mountain's peak, the air is less prevalent. To the extent that someone would find it difficult to stay down here for extended period of time without getting giddy from lightheadedness.

Saber's gaze wanders over the occupants of the room before her, taking note of all their details and the appearance of the room itself.

Around fifty 'followers' grovel on the ground, chanting incessant religious doctrine. Incoherent ramblings that Saber can barely understand. Almost like white noise on a television, it's utterly vexing to her ears.

"The Enlightened One will show us the way."

"Through the eyes of our Prophet we shall find salvation."

"Suffering and pleasure are one in the same."

"Misery cannot exist without desire. Desire has no place without misery."

"Lust brings love. Love brings lust."

"Pain is pleasure. Honesty is a lie. Wisdom is ignorance."

Various other statements are spouted forth from the crowd as they drone on for what seems like forever. All of them speak at the exact same time, as if this were one big symphony performed by a masterful orchestra. It's a rehearsal of the damned, in Saber's mind.

There's another noteworthy thing to mention about this room, besides the cult-like behavior of the crowd. It's the satin curtains that cut off half the room from her vision. All she make out is a slight outline of what she assumes to be a person, in a seated position, on the other side.

Thomas … doesn't react to any of this. He's either seen this before, has a godlike poker face, or is as morally bankrupt at the rest of the unnerving members of this faction.

"Come, let Inu show you the path to salvation."

Thomas doesn't budge.

"Do not fight it. Our Prophet especially loves sinners. She shall comfort you. Make you whole."

Saber watches as the wrinkly man reaches out to grab Thomas' wrist. She watches as Thomas grabs his instead.

There's a loud _crack._ It echoes throughout, bouncing off of the rocky walls around them and cascading all around the room.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me."

If what the hooded man had said to him before could have been deemed a command, the four words that come from Thomas' mouth at that moment can be considered a proclamation from God himself. They do more damage to the psyche of Inu than the breaking of his wrist could ever do.

"My money. Give it to me."

The older man cowers underneath the sheer fury directed at him. "Please reconsider. The Prophet will be greatly displeased that–!"

"Do I look like I care?" The cocking of a pistol resounds throughout, the only noise prevalent in this room besides the monotonous bastardization of the Gregorian chant being sung.

"We have already given it. The transaction was complete the moment you entered our abode! Its in your account!"

Thomas lets go of the man's wrist, reholstering the Charter Arms revolver he'd drawn. "Was that so hard, Inu? Couldn't you have spared me all this sanctimonious bullshit?"

A dry chuckle emanates from the other man. His lips curl in disgust. "You best reconsider the actions you've taken. Our offers are very … selective."

"No thanks." Without hesitation, Thomas answers. "Not a big fan of this makeshift Illuminati shit you have set up down here. I'll sell you guns, but I have no interest in being recruited."

Thomas moves to leave, showing himself out so to speak.

"I beg you to at least meet our Prophet. She shall show you the way towards Nirvana!"

Thomas stops, within kissing distance of Nero, and looks over his shoulder. "Your Prophet is down here?"

Inu's head bobs up and down, a feral grin replaces the grimace he wore prior. He's doing something quite talented. Rubbing his hands together despite having a broken wrist. (I mean, come on, that deserves a showcase on America's Got Talent. Being sinister even after being manhandled? Kudos to this dude.)

"She is. And she was very much looking forward to meeting you. As I said, we don't get many outsiders around here."

"I wonder why." Thomas deadpans, still annoyed by how his day's gone so far. He sighs. "Alright, I'll bite. Lead the way."

If he were a dog Inu would be wagging his tail furiously. Instead he can only rub his hands together more intensely as he starts snickering. "This way. This way!"

He doesn't make it a single step before his forehead is smashed into the wall. "Let's just set one thing straight." Thomas whispers into his ear, his body pressed tightly against the man as he forces him to remain plastered against the wall. "You nutjobs fuck me over? I'll reenact Jonestown. And you won't be getting the good Kool Aid. No, you'll be drinking that Lemon-Lime shit." A loud gulp is his only audible response.

Thomas releases the man, letting him slide to the ground. Inu brings himself to his feet while refusing to meet the eyes of the man that's just abused him. Then he starts walking forward, towards the curtains.

Saber follows Thomas as he pushes his way through the eager followers. They don't react to his presence. Instead they continue chanting like automatons with only one purpose.

Inu makes it to the curtain, pushes it aside enough so he can enter, and leaves Thomas alone while he goes to speak to his Prophet. For thirty seconds Thomas is left alone in a room of cultists proclaiming that 'Through torture we find comfort' and 'From our corpses the Enlightened One shall be born'. Safe to say he has to hold back. A lot. Even Saber feels like she's in over her head, despite being a Servant. This isn't what she was expecting to be the final scene.

"She will see you." Inu shuffles past Thomas, scurrying away like a rat as he exits the room.

Thomas pushes aside the curtains as he also pushes aside a part of him that tells him this is going to be a terrible mistake. He ignores the inner voice in his head giving him advice, and continues forward with Saber at his heels.

Inside he finds something that shocks them both.

A young adolescent girl. Falling somewhere in the age bracket of twelve to fifteen. Sitting up in her bed with a small smile on her face.

"You came."

Thomas didn't answer, Saber sees that he can't even if he wanted to. His jaw is firmly glued to the ground.

"Welcome to the Shingon Tachikawa school, Thomas Edmond Victors. I am Kiara Sessyoin. It is a pleasure to meet you." The girl speaks with a tone of maturity far beyond her years, despite her voice being rather meek. She's a frail looking creature, almost anorexic in her appearance. Her hair is as an ebony color, as dark as the shadows surrounding them. Her eyes are amber colored, like that of a golden dawn stretching across the horizon. She wears the same robes the rest of the cult members wear, except hers are obviously made with a child's smaller proportions in mind. Even so the clothe drapes itself over her, oversized because of her diminutive figure.

"You know my name?" That's the first question that comes out of Thomas' mouth as he gathers his wits together.

Kiara giggles. "But of course. Everyone here has been talking about you for days. You're the first outsider to grace us in months."

"You're their Prophet?"

Another giggle. "Yes. I am their shepherd and they are my flock."

"What have they done to you?" There's a tinge of outrage coating that question, as Thomas scowls in disgust at the girl's condition.

Kiara's smile turns sad. "Don't blame them for this. I've been like this since birth, and I fear I'll be like this till death."

Silence reigns supreme as both Thomas and Saber digest those words. Then, it's broken. Not by a comment but by an action. Thomas walks towards the girl, and without asking he takes a seat at the corner of her bed. All at once the weight of the world seems to hit him. His shoulders, kept confidently upright on his journey here, slump as his posture relaxes. His face softens as he loses the intimidating aura that surrounded him moments before.

"You're no Prophet."

The girl doesn't respond to this, instead allowing him to continue.

"Why allow them to make you one?"

Here is where she responds, and her words shatter something deep inside Nero and Thomas' heart. "Because they needed one."

For a while it seems as if Thomas isn't going to respond, the gears in his head seems to jam up as he processes what she's just said.

But then he speaks. Or rather he murmurs as he takes a soft-spoken approach. "I don't like this."

Just a simple statement, so simple it could almost be labeled childish. And yet, the way he says it makes it seem as if a rule of law has been decreed.

Kiara shrugs. Not really knowing how to respond. She'd wished to meet this stranger out of curiosity and boredom. Already he's shown to be pushy. Quite pushy. Is this how all outsiders are? Vocally opinionated on things that they have no connection to?

These two unusual people sit in silence. Thinking about one another, and how different they both must be.

"How is it … out there?"

Thomas sighs at the girl's question. It figures that being so sheltered would make her curious about the outside world.

"You've never seen it for yourself?"

She shakes her head in the negative.

For a second it seems as if Thomas is going to erupt in flames. His eyes bulge dangerously, almost as if they're about to pop out of his sockets.

"I never asked to."

And with that the air of malice overcoming him dissipates, fizzling out of him as he recomposes himself.

"It's … entertaining."

The girl raises an eyebrow at the adjective he uses. "How so?"

Thomas chuckles nervously, scratching the side of his chin as he decides exactly how to answer her. "It's ever changing. When I leave this place the world is going to be different than what it was when I entered. It will never stagnate."

Kiara thinks this description over, debating exactly what she should take away from it. "So it is … perpetual chaos."

"One could look at it like that. But you could also say it's just constantly evolving, constantly progressing into something new."

The girl giggles, "That sounds somewhat scary, don't you think? It makes me glad I'm down here." She's teasing the older boy, enjoying the look of disapproval that flits across his features.

"You should never fear something you've never experienced. It's pointless."

Kiara thinks his over, once again contemplating her words before vocalizing them. "Well … I suppose you have a point. Perhaps you could show me the world?"

Thomas mulls over this, and from the vast array of emotions that wash over his face Saber can tell he's arguing internally about how he should respond.

"Is there not anyone else?"

"Around here? No. None of them have seen the sun in months. Or last convert arrived in June of last year."

"They can't take you outside?"

"I do not wish to go. When I ask you to show me the world I merely ask for you to tell me your experiences. Nothing more." When she put it like that how could he refuse? It's not anything particularly difficult for him to do. He wouldn't have to babysit her or teach her anything. All he'd have to do is tell her bedtimes stories about the world around them. Not exactly a grave responsibility.

Still, Thomas rebels against the idea, disliking the implications of such a request. In agreeing he'd have to continuously traverse his way down here. Interacting constantly with an organization of lunatics just to talk to a teenage girl he knew nothing of. That seemed like it'd lead to a gradual indoctrination. Eventually he'd find himself less willing to leave.

"I have no time to waste on fraternizing with little girls."

Kiara actually pouts at this. "I'm not a 'little girl'. You're only five years older than me."

How does she know that? The shock on Thomas' face tells Saber that's the question he's wordlessly asking.

His response?

A sly grin.

Kiara wiggles a finger back and forth in front of his face. "I told you we had an interest in you."

That's an extremely unsettling thing to hear. But it'd be even more unsettling if she knew more than his age, something anyone could discern with a quick Google search.

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"You look much younger."

"It is the illness."

"You're bedridden." It comes across not as a question but as a realization. It dawns on Thomas just how sickly this girl is. Her appearance isn't just a farce used to pull at his heartstrings. It's an earnest representation of her condition.

"Oh? Did you think I was not? That makes me happy."

"Why's that?"

Kiara smiles, a happy little grin that seems out of place on her ashen face. "You knew immediately I was quite unwell but you still believed me to be strong enough to walk."

"Is there any way to answer that without sounding like a sentimental fool?"

"Not unless you'd rather be a coldhearted villain."

Booming laughter sounds off from the man sitting at the corner of Kiara's bed. "Perhaps I'd rather be a villain if it kept me away from demons such as yourself."

"Me?" The girl smiles sweetly at him, putting on a completely forced innocent look. "A 'demon'? But I am a Prophet?"

"You are neither of those things and yet your try to be both." Something about that hit the girl hard. She reacts … unpleasantly. Her eyes go wide as she releases a gasp of air. It's as if she's been hit in the gut.

"I …? What?"

Thomas stands up, removing himself from his siting position. His posture straightens considerably, and his expression is once again overtaken with a somber look. "You're a complete fake. Transparent. Anyone that's looking close enough can see you for what you are." He shrugs as the girl gasps at him. "But I enjoyed our conversation. I might return sometime if I have the chance." He moves towards the curtains, not turning back as he leaves.

"Thank you."

A meek voice bids him farewell with words of gratitude. Saber watches as tears stream down the younger girl's face, unseen by Thomas as he's already halfway gone.

"But ... could you tell me what I am then?"

Thomas doesn't stop to answer her, instead continuing his departure from the compound without a single goodbye.

* * *

Saber hadn't even noticed she'd fallen unconscious, likely implying she'd passed out from exhaustion. She frantically scrambles to her feet, hoping to find out what had happened.

What greets her is something completely unexpected.

She's in a luxurious king sized bed. Crimson sheets stenciled with gold cover her body.

Saber sits up, her head turning from one direction to the next as she desperately tries to figure out where she is.

"The mansion." It hits her like a sack of bricks. The decor has an uncanny similarity to that of the manor she'd purchased in her Master's name.

Which means only one thing.

"Praetor!" She bolts out of bed … and halts in her tracks.

On the bedside nightstand there's a vase filled with a bouquet of roses. A small card is placed next to it.

Saber carefully picks up the card, handling it as delicately as possible to avoid damaging it.

On the front page there is text, it reads as follows: "Thanks! You're a …" And underneath this is a … bright red colored wheel?

There's writing on this strange wheel shaped object. "Lifesaver". Saber doesn't understand what this is a reference too, but even she can put two and two together.

"Thanks! You're a lifesaver." She reads it aloud so as to assure herself it's in fact real. She opens the card, and upon doing so notices there's a rather hideously signed signature. It is so terrible that describing it using the phrase 'chicken scratch' would be an overzealous compliment.

But Saber is gifted with the inner Rosetta Stone all Servants have, courtesy of the Grail, and because of this she can read it.

"Gratias tibi for the save, partner. -Dante"

She reads it four times. Then she reads it four more just to make sure she isn't hallucinating from a migraine. Once she accepts this as being reality, she turns towards the roses set beside her.

They're beautiful, healthy, and look to be freshly picked. The aroma that saturates from them livens up the room considerably and sets her mind at ease.

Nero, fifth emperor of the Roman Empire, knows of only one thing to do in response to this gesture.

She needs to find her Praetor.

Saber rushes down the halls of the mansion she's in, striding with purpose in search of the man that considers her a 'partner' and not a 'Servant'.

She finds him in less than a minute.

He's surrounded by a gaggle of men in the foyer of the building, barking orders at them like a general commanding his army. His appearance has been changed drastically, and for the better in Saber's opinion. He no longer wears the scraggly jacket, raggy t-shirt, and faded jeans that seemed to be his customary attire.

Now her Praetor is decked out in his finest, wearing slacks and a buttoned-up dress shirt. Minus the tie of course, and with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. To complete the look her sports an oversized white leather jacket draped across his shoulders. The handgun he constantly carries with him is finally resting in a proper holster at his hip. It's almost breathtaking how different he looks. His eyes are no longer bloodshot, and the bags underneath them have seemingly disappeared. He's clean shaven. His shirt is even tucked in. The only thing left unchanged are the bandages that conceal his hands.

This is something completely unexpected.

"I need the usual serving sent to Taiga. Make sure she pays for it this time."

"What of the materials, boss? We'll need more than scrap to take care of this."

"Still at the Junkyard. In the shed with the rusted Mazda in front of it. Head by there and restock. All the old tools should be lying around."

"And what of their condition? It's been years since anyone's been there?"

Dante turns to the slouched man that's questioned him. "I make good shit, pal. Those tools will be sparkling when you find them."

The bowed man scribbles down a couple of sentences in the notepad he's carrying around.

"Alright, that's it. I'll be checking up on you and a few days. Tell Kaz to call me if anything goes wrong before then. And stay indoors during the night."

"Why?"

"I'd tell you to stay inside all day if I could, but then you idiots wouldn't get anything done. But avoid going out during the late hours, there's something going down in this city that I don't want any of you caught up in. Any questions?"

None whatsoever.

"Good. You're dismissed."

The men pour out of the front door, rushing to complete the tasks set for them.

Dante watches them go, and Saber watches them with him.

"Pesci, I hate accountants. Glorified bookkeepers."

"Praetor?" She is going to thank him for his gift. She's also going to use this to her advantage, teasing him about the kindness he has shown her in order to push him forward. Hopefully it will work better than her attempts at making him jealous with her talk of harems. After this is done she is going to assure him his thanks are unnecessary. Tell him that the smile on his face is all she needed. Lay on the cheesy bullshit in the hopes of buttering him up, just to coax out the softer side of him that clearly has to exist. There is no way a barbarian would get a woman flowers. No. Praetor has to be a secret romantic.

She's going to say these things to him and she's going to assist him in his metamorphosis into love!

Or at least that's what she thought was going to go down.

Instead the bastard immediately sidetracks those ideas by acting as if nothing is different.

"Good to see you're awake Saber." He turns to her, a smirk plastered across his face as he places his hands inside his slacks' pockets. "Are you hungry?"

Her sheepish grin answers that question for him. "Well, don't let me keep you waiting. Chow down." He dismisses her in much the same fashion he'd dismissed who she assumes to be secretaries.

And in doing so he squashes any chances she has at attempting to get through to him. At least for the moment. Saber is a dedicated woman after all. Rome wasn't built in a day.

"Praetor? Where are you going?"

"Hmm?" He turns towards her, the smirk disappearing completely, replaced by a questioning stare. "To take stock."

 _Stock?_

He leaves, stomping down a set of stairs that she assumes lead to this building's basement.

She follows him, as he hadn't told her not to despite implying she should eat. There will be a time for that later. After all, it isn't a requirement for Servants to eat. In fact, it's practically useless for them to do so as the prana gained from the act is minimal at best.

She makes it to the bottom stair right as she hears a _click-clack_ echo throughout the room. Her Praetor is holding a weapon Saber knows nothing about. It looks unlike the other long guns her Master has used, lacking a pistol grip and having a pump instead of a charging handle. It's a weapon that had seen use in both World Wars. It'd been in Korea, and Vietnam, and even reportedly used in the Gulf War. It's truly a 20th century classic born at the turn of the 19th. A shotgun like no other. A war veteran in its own right.

It's a Winchester Model 1897. Otherwise known colloquially as the Trench Gun.

But Saber doesn't know that. All she sees is a gun that her Praetor admires with a whistle before putting it down.

"Those morons actually managed to follow through with my requests. Colored me surprised."

In front of him there are numerous sheets of metal, of varying degrees of thickness. A stack of lumber is piled in the corner of the room.

"With this I can make practically anything, 'sides for something requiring plastic or glass. Ugh." He frowns. "Which rules out practically every modern gun in existence, along with any sort of magnified optic."

He begins making his way to a pile of what Saber can only assume to be ammunition. It's stacked haphazardly in the corner of this cellar they are in. She assumes this is his de facto workshop. That's after all something a mage has. Isn't it?

Dante bend down to pick up a cartridge. He checks it for any defect, and upon finding none, tosses it back on the pile in front of him. Then he does something Saber doesn't expect.

He jumps into the pile. Like a child diving into a bouncy ball pit.

She winces, closing her eyes in anticipation of the yelp of pain he'll force out after landing.

It never comes.

"Didn't I tell you to go get something to eat, blondie? What the hell are you doing down here?" Despite the crassness of his second question, there is no ill will in his tone. Nothing but joviality.

Saber opens her eyes and the sight that greets her throws her mind for a loop.

Her Praetor sits amongst the bullets, using them as a makeshift chair. They've shifted around his weight providing a proper support for his back and rests for his arms. He looks very much like a king sitting upon their golden throne.

Except this throne isn't made of gold. It's made of copious amounts of brass instead.

"Not really anything exciting going down here. I was just about to gather up some explosives to set around the perimeter before we head out." He shrugs, nonchalantly disregarding the seriousness of such a statement. "Least those dumbasses did two things right. I have enough material to set up shop for a year, and enough explosives to make the Tunguska event look like a mere fireworks display." A visible drop of sweat shines on Saber's forehead as she realizes the implications behind this. Dante has explosives down here. A lot of explosives. And they're in a room filled with guns and ammunition. It's a veritable powder keg willing to blow. And yet her Praetor has somehow made himself right at home.

A sigh, and he begins holding his face in his palms. "Now if only they hadn't been lazy. I asked for casings, primers, and bullets, and they grab pre-made cartridges. I'll have to break these down first before we can get anywhere." Yet another sigh, and for a second Saber assumes her Praetor is going to go into some sort of rant at the expense of his 'employees'. But such a thing never comes, as a massive grin overtakes his entire countenance.

"Well, I can't complain **too** much. They did try." That. That right there is the final straw. Something is seriously wrong with her Praetor.

"Praetor? Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" He glances up to her, bewilderment evident on his face. "Oh. I'm just pleased by how things turned out." The grin returns, growing in enormous proportions until it looks like it'll slide off his face.

For a brief moment she almost thinks he's talking of his gratitude for surviving the night prior. Saber prepares herself, seeing a clear opportunity before her. She could use this as a segue into talking about the card. This is her chance to–!

"The insurance money came in."

Or … he could instead bring up a completely unrelated tangent.

"…. Insurance money?"

"Yup. Turns out Kiara did me a solid. Brainwashed the surrounding neighbors and the police that showed up into believing it was a gas leak that set it ablaze." He busts out in a fit of laughter. "And of course I took advantage of that the second she told me on the phone. Filed the claim online while you were asleep. It came a few hours ago. I suspect she 'coaxed' them into accepting it too."

"Does this mean what I think it means, Praetor?" _That you haven't yet straightened out your priorities?_

"Correctamundo. I've just added insurance fraud to the long list of offenses I've committed; and I'm no longer broke!" A dark look crosses his features. "I'm still not exactly rich. Thanks to **someone** we both know. But I have something to support us for the time being."

She frowns as he brings up her actions yet again. The man could certainly hold a grudge. "I trust this will put to rest that particular issue, will it not?"

"Not on your life~." He chirps. "You still burnt my house down. I'll hold that over your head until we're both dead!" He cackles as Saber groans in discomfort. _There goes any attempts at taking control of this conversation._

"But right now I have better things to do. I believe we should start going on the offensive."

"The offensive? You do not mean–"

"That I do. We've been on the defensive the past few days. And look where it's gotten us. The only time I've been on the offensive was the night I swiped you from that kid."

"Mmm, you do have a point, Praetor. The enemy certainly does not hold back. Why should we?"

"Exactly. We'll start hunting them down one by one. That's how we'll win this."

"I admit, I am somewhat surprised by the change in heart, Praetor."

He blinks. "What change of heart?"

She tilts her head to the side, perplexed as to how he doesn't understand her comment. "Were you not the one that fled from battle the moment we could?"

The grinding of his teeth is all the answer she needs. But it isn't the only one she gets. "Have you ever heard of guerrilla warfare?"

Saber nods in the negative.

"Well, basically, our main objective is to survive. In order to do that and also weaken the enemy it's best to retreat when we know we're pushing it." He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "We have to avoid giving the enemy a reason to use their Noble Phantasms. In order to do that we need to hit hard and fast. It is entirely possible we could have died had we not fled in the past two battles."

"Is this not the cowardly way of fighting, Praetor? Do you know nothing of pride? How can you speak so nonchalantly about running away?"

Dante groans at her series of questions, sounding completely fed up with her line of reasoning. "Have you ever heard of a 'tactical retreat'? Cutting your losses before you lose everything? That's how you win wars Saber. Pride, honor, decency. They have nothing to do with it." He shrugs. "Surely you must know something of this. Rome was known for its legions. Did they not ever flee when defeat was evident?"

"Absolutely not. No proud Roman would turn back even in the face of death."

"I'm fairly certain that's historically inaccurate. But that's beside the point. Don't you think it's important to fight another day, even if it means retreating?"

She processes this, judging his logic for what it's worth. "Perhaps, but surely you understand the effect constantly retreating has on your troops? It is a gradual degradation of morale, and that cannot end well."

He blinks at her. Twice. Completely flabbergasted by the point she's made. "Where the hell did you hear that from?"

Saber shrugs. "I had excellent tutors and Sextus, being a soldier at heart, was quite fond of military tactics."

"That … that actually makes a lot of sense." Dante strokes his chin in thought. "Wait." He freezes as he realizes what she's getting at. "You don't mean to tell me you're depressed we're constantly losing."

Saber clears her throat loudly. "Well … I would not use the term 'losing' per se, but …."

"I feel the same."

The temperature in the room drops a couple of degrees.

"Praetor?"

He looks down at his shoes, refusing to meet her gaze. "I had a different goal in mind in the beginning of this thing. I had an idea of how I was going to proceed. But I'm just now realizing how useless all of those plans I made are." His head shoots up and he glares into Saber's eyes defiantly. "But who gives a damn? I don't need plans. I don't need anything but my guns and my wits. And you." He holds his hand out for her to grasp. "We can do this thing. We can win. I know that, beyond a shadow of a doubt."

Something about the look in his eyes tells Saber he's telling the truth. The utter conviction in every syllable of his speech awakes something within her. Is it hope? Saber doesn't know. She doesn't care enough to question it. No one in her life has ever shown her such trust, such honest to God trust. And now, a paranoid, suspicious, shallow shell of a man is entrusting her with his victory. He's gambling everything on her being able to hold up to the task. Despite his flaws, his fallacies, despite his vices, the man is being upfront with her.

He's showing a completely different side of himself.

Perhaps he is merely bipolar, and all of this is just hot air he will believe for now but forget when it becomes less important. Perhaps he's just a better manipulator than Saber gave him credit for. But from her experience with her mother Saber can tell a thing or two about how people act when they are being deceitful. Dante doesn't set off any of those alarm bells. He seems completely genuine. Time will only tell as to whether or not this trust could last. But for now?

For now ….

Saber grabs his hand in her own.

"We shall win this … together. I trust in your Praetor. I believe in you. Just as you believe in me."

He seems to choke on air at that statement, inhaling deeply and coughing loudly upon doing so. But he fights back the urge to grimace and instead smiles sufficiently for her sake.

"Likewise, we've saved each other's asses enough for that to mean something. Now, let's just turn things around, take the fight to them instead of letting them come to us." He chuckles. "Molon labe only starts a fight, but it doesn't end it."

He smirks widely for her. "'Requiescat in Pace' is what ends it."

They stand there, their hands in each other's in a firm handshake for what seems like an eternity. Saber doesn't ask him to let go, and he makes no move to do so. It's … nice to stay like this.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door. And all at once the passionate light in her Praetor's eyes seems to be snuffed out as he's replaced once again by that cynical shadow of a man she's become accustomed to.

"Those morons are something else. What'd they forget this time?" He lets go of her grip, turning his back on her and striding towards the stairs. She follows behind, shadowing him as he steps up the stairs and towards the main entrance.

He makes it there before her, opening the large oak double doors without a second thought. His back blocks her from seeing who's at the entrance, but something about the stiffening of her Praetor's shoulders tells her it can be no one good.

"I finally found you, you Servant stealing bastard! You better pray to that Pesci guy you ramble about! Because you'll be meeting him really soon when I'm done with–!"

Dante slams the door in the blue-haired prepubescent boy's face.

Muffled screaming comes from the other side of the door. It quivers underneath what can only be a torrent of blows from the unexpected 'visitor'.

"Saber? Did you hear a knock at the door?"

Nero decides to play along, seeing the alternative as much worse by comparison. "A knock? Praetor, I do not think I did. Did you?"

Dante shakes his head furiously. "Nope, maybe it was just the wind outside." He shrugs, completely ignoring the frantic wailing from behind the door. "Why don't we go get something to eat now. The boys brought over a feast fit for a king."

Saber smiles, enjoying the idea of taking a break. "That sounds lovely, Praetor. Let us be off then."

He smirks. "Ladies first."

They make their way to the kitchen, completely disregarding the quite audible roar that comments on their departure.

"Get back here you cockblocking piece of shit!"

* * *

 **AN: Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for the hiatus that's going to be happening to this story for the next month or so. I'm being vague with my time frame because I'm unsure how long it'll take me to whip up chapter eleven after focusing on my other story for a while. On the bright side those of you who have been waiting for me to update Transparent for the past three or four months can rejoice! I plan on whipping up at least three chapters before coming back to this story. Then I'm probably going to alternate between the two, updating both stories one after the other. That's at least my main goal.**

 **Anyways, let's not dwell on such things, I have some reviews to respond to!**

 **Synthetic Knight: Thanks! I was kind of worried about how I ended up introducing him, especially since he's popping up much earlier than he did in GEGE. I'm glad to hear you think I did ok with him. I'd probably cry more than you if I stopped updating this story XD. I've put an awful lot of work into it, so unless I become physically unable of updating it I won't just stop out of thin air.**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: You know, this is exactly why I feel his luck would be EX. It jumps all over the place. One minute he's surviving impossible fights, the next he's close to death. I don't know if that's terrible writing or perhaps I just enjoy making him suffer too much to let him die, lol. And I would not worry about Rider. For better or worse the Fate universe's notorious trap paladin will not be showing up. Nor will Broskander. I don't want to spoil it too much, but it's going to be somewhat obvious who I pick for Rider. She is after all the main Rider Servant in Extra. Take my word for it though, Dante and her are going to get along well.**

 **King0fP0wers: I like your ideas, Jim XD. 'Suicidal Confidence' is a term I'm particularly interested in. Mind if I end up using that in the future? You'll be properly accredited and whatnot. You know I was thinking of making Vlad the Berserker of the war (hence him lacking in the speech department) but I also feel the other Servant I have in mind is just too perfect of a juxtaposition for me not to use her. Small hint though, we're not going to be seeing Lu Bu in this story. I'm still debating if we'll be seeing Rani. Tsk. You've caught me ... not! I have an excuse! Err ... I mean, I have an explanation! Remember the Arturia vs. Hercules fight in UBW? The first one. Herk strikes the ground sending a ton of shrapnel at Saber when she charges him with her prana burst. What looks like a rock slaps her in the side of her face and causes her to bleed. Thus, with some use of my artistic license, I figured it'd be justified to say Robin would be a little bruised/bloody from his encounter with Dante and the Great Jabby. Also, blood makes everything more dramatic ... just trust me on this XD. And of course I must end on a cliffhanger! What do you take me for, compassionate?! Hence why this chapter ends on a cliffhanger as well! MWAHAHAHA! As for the Dead Apostle situation: well I haven't yet read through Tsukihime so I can't testify exactly as to the accuracy of this but ... Arcueid is a True Ancestor is she not? And a True Ancestor is essentially a higher version of a Dead Apostle, no? And Tsukihime does have a romance route for her involving sex so ... yeah you can fill in the blanks there. Not so sure about the food thing, but I'd imagine it'd work kind of like a Servant. They can eat, but it wouldn't do them a whole lot of good (probably less than the prana gain a Servant gets from it).**

 **Guest: Hmm, on second though Arsenal of an Aficionado would probably sound better than Arsenal of an Anarchist. Just because those blasted Antifa have degraded the label 'anarchist' so soundly, lol. Wet Dream of a Texan must stay though. I don't want to brag but I'd argue it's the best named Noble Phantasm in the history of Noble Phantasms XD.**

 **Guest: Ah ha! A fellow Grand Order player! You don't know how giddy I was to see Kiara as a Servant. And you don't know how not giddy I was after wasting all my quartz on her and getting nothing but damn CEs, lol. From what I can tell the Grand Order Kiara is slightly different than CCC's version. Unlike CCC she actually interacted with normal people in her childhood and she ended up becoming some sort of therapist type. I'm sort of going for a blend of the two versions here. I agree with your view on Mephisto and Dante. It'd be fun ... for a one-shot. Writing an entire story about their bromance would only work if they didn't spend most of it screwing around, and I just can't see those two doing anything but that upon meeting each other. There has to be a semi-straight man in a comedy duo (in my opinion) or else there's nothing to contrast the humor. So I'd have to contrast Mephisto's zaniness with Dante's more sarcastic sense of humor. Now ... Dante and Andersen are another story. They'd compliment each other immensely, and unlike Mephisto and Dante they'd probably disagree a few times too. Which would add a necessary conflict in their relationship. Dante would probably only disagree with the severity of Mephisto's actions, especially if they were directed at himself or children, but he'd mostly give the guy free reign to do what he wants. Which would get boring. But Andersen and Dante would constantly be trading insults at each other like old friends, and that'd be hilarious to witness. With the whole Medea-esque buffing you're making me think of two other possible candidates. Shakespeare. And Alexandre Dumas (he's in Strange Fake). I think Dante would get along with the two of them as well. And let's not forget Medea herself! I wonder how the heck that team would work?**

 **PS: I'm curious as to what your guys' take on pairings is? Personally I prefer the idea of Dante staying single throughout this thing (because I'm godawful at writing romance), but I'm still somewhat interested in everyone else's opinion. So, what I'm going to go ahead and do is set up a poll on Space Battles. The link is of course** **threads/21st-century-schizoid-man-fate-au-with-oc-master.496022/**

 **Fanfic will probably censor it though, so if that doesn't work I'd just suggest typing '21st Century Schizoid Man' into the search bar to pull it up. It's going to be obvious which one is for this story (hint, it's the one with Nero as the cover image).**

 **Otherwise you can always just go ahead and post your vote as a review. I'll be taking into consideration what people think on this. Romance is not a main focus of this story though so don't get your hopes up (sorry to all you Dante x Jabberwocky fans, it's not gonna happen XD).**

 **Besides that feel free to send me an PMs or comment on the forum with any questions, comments, or concerns you have. Reviews also work, but I won't probably be responding to them until I finish working on Transparent so who knows when that'll be.**

 **As a final note, I'd just like to thank every last one of you for reading this. We now have more followers on this story than GEGE ever had and that's mindblowing considering we're only on chapter ten. I'm very grateful for all the support.**

 **Also, shout out to King Keith once again. Dude's a balla for helping me edit all these chapters.**


	11. Sympathy for the Devil

**Disclaimer: Dante reaches the next bond level with Nero this chapter, but instead of unlocking new material on her Servant page he's releasing her true potential. The power of the Umu. Best prepare your radiation suits in advance because you're not going to be able to handle this without some sort of protection, lol. Also, apologies in advance for the massive amount of exposition going on here, but I felt it best to give a good idea of how Dante works and what drives him.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11- Sympathy for the Devil**

Turns out I was missing more in the 'essentials' department that I even knew. Claymores, C4, thermite, pounds upon pounds of the stuff is scattered around the mansion. So much so that I resist the urge to light the newly acquired cigarette I'm currently caressing. Where did I get a pack of cigarettes? I … 'requisitioned' it for the war front.

The boys had gone all out. By this I mean they'd gotten me practically everything I could ever need. Well … not **everything**. I mean, how the hell could they find me a mint condition 1952 Mickey Mantle baseball card in such a short time? They may have pulled off a miracle with this supply run of theirs, but no one's that perfect. Especially not these guys. They're stooges. And not the loveable trio kind.

I'm following Saber to the kitchen, trailing behind her ever so slightly so I can take a moment to do two things. First: brainwashing myself to selectively hear things. If I succeed I won't be able to notice the autistic screeching coming from outside. Second: making a mental checklist of all the crap I just got as an early Christmas present.

Besides the explosives, there's also an absurd number of firearms. I'd made the Trench Gun myself, sparing no time bringing that blast from the past into the present. But I hadn't made the other miscellaneous shit scattered around. I can't even list them all from memory. I know there was a RPD somewhere in the mix. Along with a vintage Romanian AKM, wooden front hand grip and all.

A couple other Combloc guns were tossed in their as well. Most of which were meant to be sold later. Though it's not like any of the boys would complain if I were to take a few for personal use. After all, I was the guy that bought them. The main attraction was the anti-material rifle they brought with them. A GM6 Lynx, a bullpup semi-auto .50 caliber rifle of Hungarian design. That sight had made me practically drool out of delight.

I'd probably claim the AK and let the rest go up for sale. As much as I lusted for the Lynx, it just lacked something in the class department. I mean, nothing's classier than a .50 cal, but the Lynx, in particular, hasn't built a name for itself in the notoriety department. That's more important than you'd think. The only people that knew about it were either hardcore gun nuts, like myself, Hungarian vets, and Call of Duty connoisseurs.

I have something in mind for the anti-tank role. Besides the RPG of course. Why stop at resuscitating **just** the Trench Gun? I have an entire century's worth of quality weapons to use. All I have to do is pick one from my memory and it'll be mine.

"Seems your men decided to grant you adequate provisions as well, Praetor." Saber's voice came from the kitchen. I didn't even notice I'd stopped following her halfway through my rambling thoughts. There's a joke here regarding women rushing to the kitchen. I'm not going there. Yet. "There are enough rations here to last us till the end of the war."

"Woman, there's enough food there to last us for the rest of our lives."

Her response is a hearty chuckle. "I did not take you for a light eater, Praetor." Light?! There's enough food in that kitchen to feed an army! What the hell would be considered 'heavy' then?!

"Yeah, I'm on a diet." I dryly mutter, ignoring the soft tinkling of laughter that is my response.

"What's so funny you fucking asshole?!" I'm sorry? Did any of you hear something? I could swear I just heard a little boy insult me from behind the safety of a motherfucking wooden door. Does this twerp not know I could kill him without even seeing him?

"Praetor, I would say you're in adequate shape for the tasks at hand. Nonetheless, it is quite encouraging to see you view conditioning your body as highly as I do." She beams at me as I finally waltz into the kitchen. I ignore her, instead opting to pick up a gas mask laid haphazardly on one of the dining chairs.

"Israeli design, nice choice." Though I doubt I'll need it. Unless of course Aum Shinrikyo starts gaining traction again. The odds of that happening are slim to none. The odds of them getting wind that the Holy Grail is in Fuyuki are even slimmer.

"Really, Praetor? I understand the … weaponry, but what use could you possibly have for a mask?" Saber walks up to me, her heels clicking against the tile floor.

I narrow my eyebrows at her. "'Be prepared.' Have you ever seen what anthrax can do to the human body?" Her silence is all the answer I need. "Neither have I. I'd rather keep it that way, if you don't mind."

All in all, this place looks like an absolute dump, which isn't exactly surprising considering I'm fairly certain the guys that dropped this off just drove a forklift in through the front door. I'd managed to get the crafting supplies and ammunition into the cellar, but the rest of the stuff was mostly just laid around haphazardly. Thank Pesci the ATF doesn't exist in Japan. I'd probably get raided a la Waco if they did.

"Fine, I concede that point. And what of all this junk? What use is there for it?"

I shrug, deciding that's the best way to respond. "Distractions. Intimidation. Fun. Take your pick." She sighs, still smiling despite doing so. Something's off about her, she seems … happier?

"I wish I could argue against that, but I do not have the heart to." She chuckles to herself. "But why do you need fully built weapons when you created them from nothing in our last battle?"

While stretching to grab some plates from a cupboard I think of how to best answer her. "Well, I suppose there's nothing to gain in keeping you in the dark."

The befuddled expression on her face warms my heart. "Keeping me in the dark?" And then it's gone, replaced by one of the scariest glares I've ever had the displeasure to be on the receiving end of. "What are you hiding from me, Praetor?"

I start unstacking the plates before me. One. Two. Three. "'Hiding' is such an … exaggeration." I look up at her. "I prefer the term 'avoiding'. Mainly because we're on a limited time schedule. Any moment spent explaining thing would be a waste." Complete bullshit, I know. I am the guy that rambles on about everything from my opinion of a movie star to my view on war.

"Praetor." Ok, she doesn't even feel the need to elaborate on why that's bullshit. We both know rambling is my greatest gift and curse wrapped into a single package. The exasperation in her voice almost makes me pity the poor girl. Maybe for Christmas I'll get her a pair of earmuffs? That way I can ramble and she won't have to listen. Then I'll have a pretty good excuse as to why I chose not to fully explain my combat capabilities to her.

Holy shit, I just realized something. How ironic would it be to get Emperor Nero a Christmas present? That has to be like forty-seven different variations of blasphemy right there.

"In my defense, I find crime, guns, and cinema to be far more stimulating conversational topics." The look in Saber's eyes tells me she's not amused. Really. Really. Not amused.

I raise my hands in defeat, surrendering to the superior debating skills of my colleague. "Fine. Fine. Like I said, there's not really a reason to keep you in the dark." I squirm underneath her heated gaze. "At least not anymore."

"Praetor, I dislike very few things on this Earth. I would hope that to be unsurprising considering how much of an exquisite wonder this world is." She points a finger directly at me. "One of those things I dislike just so happens to be secrets." And then, just like that all semblance of seriousness leaves her.

"It is not fair! An Emperor should not be the last person to know something! I should be the first!" She starts stomping her feet like a child. "Especially when it pertains to you! Did you not say you trusted me to bring you victory?! Were those just empty words?" She starts sniffling, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. I don't know whether to feel ashamed of myself or disgusted from her blubbering.

"You know, I like to think of trust as being made up of layers. Like an onion."

"An onion? Praetor, you do know not everyone likes onions?" Shit. Shit. Shit. She's questioning it! Plan B! Man the battle stations! Cue the Smash Mouth music! Let's ramp up my debating skills to the max, yo!

"Well, you see, ogres and onions are very similar. Trust is similar to ogres and onions as well. They all have layers."

I think I just gave her an aneurism. That's a good sign!

"Trust, like onions and ogres, is very complex. There's different sides to it. It's very hard to be absolutely trustworthy. Just like it's very hard to be an absolute ogre or an absolute onion."

I nod as if this makes complete sense. "Because if you're an absolute ogre you're so ugly everyone dies. And if you're an absolute onion you make everyone cry. No one wants everyone to die and cry, do they?" Rhetorical question is rhetorical. "So that's why when I say I trust you to win I'm not saying I'm going to share every intricate little detail of my personal life. Trust me when I say you don't want to know. TMI and all that."

Her eyes are twitching uncontrollably and she looks like she's lost the ability to blink. But hey, at least she's not crying.

"Praetor." She takes a shallow breath. "I have no idea what you just said to me. My mind blanked out from the sheer idiocy you managed to convey in thirty seconds. I say this not to be condescending, but in complete earnestness. Please. Whatever you just told me. Never say it again." She exhales deeply. "Just explain to me how you can trust me without fully trusting me?"

"Ok, you trust me, right?"

"With my life."

A blank stare is my best response. Followed by a rather deadpan line. "What did you say your real name was again?"

She blinks. One. Twice. "I … did not say at all?" Her brow furrows in frustration. "Really Praetor, is this truly your best attempt at derailing our conversation?"

My face and my palm embrace in a glorious attempt at bonding with one another. Platonically of course. There is definitely not going to be any saucy hand on face action going on around here. Not on my watch.

"Just tell me your real name and I'll tell you everything about myself."

She bit her lower lip, obviously considering doing such a thing before she shook her head in the negative. I'm being unfair. I know that. I know her identity, or at least have a strong suspicion of who she is, but I'm still trying to bait her into telling me. Why, you may ask? Simple. I need a reaffirmation that she's 100% on board. If she doubts my loyalty enough where she won't even tell me her identity, and thus her skills and feats, there's no reason for me to trust her with my own past. But … that doesn't mean I can't throw her a bone, does it?

She balls her hands into fists. "Praetor, believe me when I say I wish to tell you. But … what if I did tell you? How could I know you would not reject me for who I am?"

"You don't." I shrug nonchalantly, not at all effected by the emotion in her words. She's being irrational to assume such a thing, there's no use reasoning with her in this state. "Just as I don't know how you'd react if I were to explain my life."

That causes her to pause, as she grows still while processing my message.

Again, I shrug. "But think of it like this: wouldn't it be better for that to happen now and not later?" And that, that right there, is the crux of the argument I'm going to make. Even if she knew with complete conviction that I'd abandon her, there'd still be no reason not to tell me. Unless she seriously thought I'd order her to commit suicide upon learning who she was. If that's the case then, well, there's simply no reasoning with this woman.

I begin walking towards the front door. "Either way, I'll tell you what I can about myself without giving too much away. Ya gotta give some to get some, am I right? But before we get to that, I need to let in this little shit. He's probably hungry with how much energy he's wasted smacking the door."

I pull the front doors open at the same time, allowing a massive gust of cool air to hit me in the face. "Ah, you must be the pizza guy! You're late! Does that mean my pizza's free?"

The bluette glares up at me. Poor sap's shivering from the cold. Understandable considering he's dressed lightly for the chilly breeze blowing outside. "I'm g-g-going t-to k-k-i-l-l you!"

I smile at him. "Well, if you do that you're definitely not getting a good tip."

He balls his hand into a fist, pulling it back in what he thinks is the proper posture for throwing a punch.

"Hey kid, better place your thumb outside the fist and not inside it. Or else you'll …." He swings, striking me right in the chest.

My chest is covered by a reinforced steel plate. A set of body armor I'd put on the second my men had brought it to me. This shit can block rifle rounds, what do you think a small child's fist is going to do to it?

"Yeee-ooow!" Exactly.

"Did you really think you were going to kill me with a single punch? You're going to have to train so much your hair falls off if you want to do that." I draw the Pico out of its holster, causing the boy to freeze up in horror. "Why not use magic? You are a mage, aren't you?"

His face turns red. I'm unsure whether it's from embarrassment or fury. Maybe he's furious he's embarrassed? Or embarrassed he's furious? "Guess that's a unanimous 'no'. Wonder how you expected to fight in this thing without being able to supply a Servant with prana." I pause for a moment as I consider this. "On second thought, I'd rather not know." Mana transfer ceremonies weren't exactly common, but I'd heard of more than a few depraved orgies going down in some dark corner of the Clocktower when it was still big.

"Here." I hand the kid the pistol. "I'll help you out. Just this once." My eyes twinkle in amusement as the brat fumbles around with the gun, terrified by the object in his hands.

"Boy, you're all bark and no bite." I ruffle the tike's hair, taking great pleasure in his protest. "Never say something if you're not going to do it." I hold out my hand, expecting him to return the Pico to its rightful owner. He doesn't.

Instead, he points it at me.

"Y-y-you bastard! Don't look down on me!" He shrieks for everyone and their mother to hear. "I-I-I said I'd do it! I'll do it!" I look down the barrel of the gun.

"Better rack the slide first. Your chamber's empty right now."

"Eh?" He looks at the pistol in his shaking hands, baffled as to what I'm talking about, before something clicks in his head. "Oh … I knew that." The brat grabs the slide of the Pico with one hand, inadvertently taking his finger off the trigger while doing so. If I wanted to, I could have disarmed him instantly. But I avoid doing so instead taking great pleasure in what he's about to do.

The kid struggles to pull the slide, fumbling around with the mechanism as he tries his best. Finally, after much grunting and cursing, he succeeds … and sends the round that I'd had in the chamber spilling out.

"Eh?" Sheepish expression on face, he watches the bullet soar through the air and come to a stop on the lightly snow-covered ground beneath him. I can swear I see a sweat drop fall off his brow.

"Wow kid, you feel for that hook line and sinker." I take a step closer to him. He almost drops the Pico as he tries to chamber another round in it. "Of course I'd carry a round in the chamber. I'm almost insulted you believed I wouldn't." He slams the slide home, drawing his aim back to my body and putting his finger right on the trigger.

"Oh? Still want to give this a go?" His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti … err, let's try this again.

His palms are sweaty. His knees look to like they'll give out from underneath him. And despite the light weight of the Pico, he looks to be struggling to keep it up with what little strength is in his arms.

This is not the posture of a trained killer, nor the demeanor of someone that's willing to take a human life.

I tap my foot impatiently on the ground as I wait for him to do something, anything, to end this debacle.

He doesn't move, instead remaining in his statue-esque stance for far too long.

Then Saber arrives, coming down from the mountainside. Coming down she turned the tide … err need to cut that out.

Saber arrives, walking outside to join us in this little show of machismo. She moves in such a way that I know she won't attack without provocation. Seems she's going to go ahead and give me the benefit of the doubt this time. Still, I know she's just a hair away from chopping my poor Pico in half and ending this Mexican standoff.

"I think I left the oven on, kid. Can we get this over with?"

His eyes are as wide as saucers. His breath is coming out in heavy gasps, as if he'd just run a marathon. There's no way he'll pull the trigger. No way, whatsoever.

Then he starts screaming like a banshee, in what I can only describe as the girliest war cry of them all.

"Reeeeeeee!" With the volume of his screeching I can only assume he's trying to tell off God himself. Seriously, this dude has a healthy set of lungs for a twerp.

The brat starts spamming the ever-living shit out of the trigger, not even allowing it to properly reset as he mashes his (probably) Cheeto encrusted digit against it.

The sound that follows is quieter than his retarded rebel yell.

 _Click. Click. Click. Click. Click._

He doesn't even notice it, what with all the screaming, so he keeps pulling the trigger thinking it's somehow having an effect on me.

Saber watches all of this with an expression of pity. I'm hoping that's not misplaced. This kid doesn't deserve any pity. My Pico does, with all the manhandling he's been giving it.

After what seems like an eternity, the punk stops screaming and lowers the pistol, huffing and puffing like a woman attempting to give birth.

I give him a flat look, thoroughly unimpressed. "Kid, you just bought yourself a time out."

He blinks. "H-h-how are you still alive?"

I raise the loaded magazine of the Pico in answer.

He looks at the handgun in his hands and notices the obvious emptiness where the magazine should be.

"Son of a–!" And right about then is when I toss a pillow case over his head.

"Saber grab the rope!"

"Rope?!"

"Don't question it! Let's just get him inside!"

I grab the Pico from his flailing fist, and proceed to hogtie him in a spectacular fashion with the thread Saber's provided.

He ends up being tossed into an empty closet, tied up and gagged so we don't have to listen to his tirades. I even add a dunce cap to his head for aesthetic purposes.

"Praetor?"

"Yes, fellow kidnapper?"

"Was that really necessary?"

I shrug. "I'll let him out when we get back. Right now he needs a quiet corner to sit and think."

Saber ponders this, probably not entirely convinced of the merits of this idea, before nodding twice and dropping the conversation completely.

Thank you so much, Saber. I don't want to think about this any more than I must.

"So, let's grab some chow, finish that chat of ours and get out of here." I march off towards the kitchen, completely disregarding the sigh that escapes Saber's lips.

"Praetor?" She calls out to me as I depart. "What if he escapes?"

I halt in my tracks. "Hmm?" I glance back at her from the bottom of the stairs. "I don't think that's going to happen." I laced the rope with metal. Any attempts at wiggling free will only make him more uncomfortable as the rope will automatically tighten around him. Just like one of those Chinese finger traps, struggling will only make his situation worse. "I'll have a few guys stop by to check on him." That way he won't inadvertently crush himself.

She internally processes this information, pondering if it's the proper choice. Then, she shrugs. "Very well, Praetor. That sounds fair." Of course it does. He tried to kill me. Any other Master in this War would have massacred him.

We make our way back to the kitchen, where I immediately rush to the microwave oven.

"Praetor?" Saber calls out to me.

"Hold up." I grab a frozen pizza from the nearby freezer, rip the box open, and toss the cryogenically frozen calories into the microwave. A few button pushes later and the food's slowly rotating around as it heats up.

"Mmm …." Saber bites her lower lip. "Is that to be our 'meal'?"

I frown at her. "Hell, nah. That's my food." I gesture to the pizza. "Touch it and die."

My hands gesture to the remainder of the kitchen. "You can have whatever you want. Make yourself at home." And with that I focus on the pizza spinning around, squatting so as to be right in front of it.

Saber pouts at me, but ultimately decides to drop it. She begins making herself a separate meal.

A few minutes later and the microwave starts beeping.

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

 _Boom!_

And something behind me explodes.

I twist at the waist to get a good view at ground zero.

Saber's standing stock still, soot covering her face completely. The only part of her features that I can make out are her eyes, which she apparently managed to close before the detonation.

"Hey." I point at her impromptu blackface. "Dat's racist." Her eyes start watering from the embarrassment, the tracks from her tears start paving a path through the grime on her face. Then, as if a flip had been switched, she crosses her arms and glares at me.

"Praetor, your machinery was sabotaged."

I look at the oven, taking note of the obvious problem with her cooking. "Did you … stick a … propane tank into the oven?"

She glances disdainfully at the object in question. "Why of course. How else am I supposed to fuel the fire?"

My hands aren't nearly big enough to perform the facepalm necessary in response. "Saber?"

"Yes, Praetor?"

"They set up a computer room upstairs. First room on the left." I point towards the stairs. "Go and watch some cooking tutorials. Then come back to me."

She looks offended. "Bah! As if I would need to 'learn' how to cook. Come now, Praetor."

I just point to the oven's scorched remains.

She has the decency to blush. "Err, as I said, the problem was with your equipment."

I'm not buying it. She knows I'm not buying it.

"Praetor. I am an artist. Cooking is not called the 'culinary arts' for naught. I do not need any–!"

"Shoo." I wave her away, again pointing at the upstairs.

"But!"

"Begone demon!"

She sighs, deflating like a balloon as she accepts her fate. Then she walks away, shuffling up the stairs and into the room I motioned her to go to.

I'm sitting down, eating the first slice of my pizza, when she comes back.

She's … changed her wardrobe considerably.

Gone is the red semi-transparent dress she favors. It's been replaced with an apron. Thankfully she's fully-clothed underneath. Oh, and she's also got a chef's hat on her head. And she's cleaned her face up.

Wait … where did she get this getup anyway? Did she learn how to sew in addition to figuring out how to cook?!

Regardless, I don't like where this is going ….

"Yes! Praetor, I will show you! You will praise me when I am done!" She fist bumps the air and then starts running around the kitchen like a stock broker doped up on coke.

"Yeah …." I give her a mock thumbs-up. "You can do it." Not the best Rob Schneider impression (on account of the utter lack of passion in my voice) but I'd say it's sufficient for whatever the hell she's doing. "Go get 'em, Chef Boyardee." I go back to eating my pizza, drowning out the cacophony of plates shattering and dishes being knocked together.

* * *

I'm … sorta impressed.

She did it. By Pesci, she did it.

"How did you do this?"

Before me is a feast fit for a king. Dishes from all manner of land are laid out for me to engorge. Western, Eastern, Norther, and Southern. Italian food. Japanese food. American food. Mexican food. There's a smorgasbord of cuisine in front of me. Why, there's probably a dish representing every culture ever to exist on Earth. Unfortunately.

I really hope she doesn't expect me to eat that haggis over there. I aint eating no sheep stomach, brah. A man's got to have standards.

"I have a Personal Skill known as Imperial Privilege. I thought you knew, Praetor?"

I didn't. I should have, considering I can check up on her stats instantly, but I didn't.

Now that I've taken the time to read through her skills I can kind of understand how she pulled this off. A skill that lets her copy any skill she wants. Why didn't I look into this earlier? That sounds completely overpowered. Even if it is only temporary.

Also, what the hell is this 'Migraine' thing? Is that why she places a hand to her temple every once and a while? I thought for sure she was just trying to contact the mother ship. Or maybe perform some Professor X sort of mumbo jumbo on me.

Huh. I kind of feel like a dick now. What should I do? Get her some acetaminophen? (Notice I didn't say Tylenol. No way I'm wasting anymore of my money on the name-brand for this chick.)

"Well, Saber. I have only one thing to say about all of this."

"Yes, Praetor?" Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, which amplifies the size of her bosom tenfold (something I'm sure she's doing intentionally). There's a smug, shit eating grin adorned on that face of hers, telling me that she knows she's done something quite impressive with this.

I have two paths here. The obvious one. Compliment here profusely for this modern marvel she's accomplished in the span of fifteen minutes. Or … the proper one.

"I'm kind of full to be honest. That pizza really hit the spot."

"Eh?" Wow. Her jaw just fell into the kimchi. That's probably going to mess up its texture a little.

"B-b-b-u-u-u-t Praetor!" She starts frantically spazzing out. "Certainly, you could try a little?!"

I pat my stomach contently. "Not really. Always been a light eater, ya see." I sit up, out of my seat, and start making my way towards the entrance. "I'll check the equipment once more. Go ahead and enjoy. When I get back we'll continue where we left off."

She gapes at me as I depart, utterly flabbergasted that I'd dare to decline her cooking. I lean against the wall directly outside the kitchen and start counting down in my head from ten. When I make it to four, the world starts to rumble.

"Praetor! You cannot just decline my meal like that! I made it for you!" I take this as my cue to waltz back into the room. There's something to be said about the glow that warms her checks when she notices my return. There's something also to be said about how quickly she turns white when I avoid her table of culinary art and make my way to the refrigerator instead.

"Ah." I smack my lips together upon sampling the brandy stored away. "That really hits the spot." I wrap the bottle with tinfoil, and apply a liberal amount of prana to turn it into a makeshift flask. Pocketing the container, I turn back towards the exit, completely disregarding Saber and her meal.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Praetor!"

Did Mount Vesuvius just erupt a second time?

"You called, Madame?" I pivot around and walk right back into the kitchen.

A thundercloud seems to be storming above her head. How quaint. She doesn't even speak, instead pointing furiously at the table. She pouts, to the extent that it looks like she's trying to consume her upper lip. Hopefully she's not doing that because of how bad her food tastes, or else I'll have to find a clever way to ditch her.

I take a seat at the table, pulling the bottle of brandy from my pocket and placing it next to the platter she's assembled in my honor. Images of the bitchy girl that blew up like a blueberry in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory flash through my mind. "Just one bite." I assure myself, mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to experience.

After tucking a cloth napkin into my shirt, I pick up the fork laid out within my grasp and prepare to skewer some schnitzel innocently minding its own business before me.

Saber smacks my hand. She actually smacks my hand. Lightly, perhaps, but she still smacks me.

"No, no, Praetor. Allow me."

"Wha–?" I don't even get to question her on what the hell it is she wants. She stuffs a bite of food into my mouth. Like a baby. Seriously? Is she going to say, 'here comes the choo-choo train' and shove shit in my mouth like it's a waste disposal unit?

I'm about to say this to her. To utterly lambaste her for daring to do something so erroneous. But I can't.

I'm KO'd on the floor from the sheer Flavor Flav Flavor that's just assaulted my taste buds.

"I … I think I just climaxed." I glance down at my pants for a quick clarification. "Scratch that. False alarm."

Saber's posing like an asshole, arms on hips, chest proudly jutting out, and with a giddy grin on her face.

"So …? What say you, Praetor?"

I cough into my fist as I right myself. "It was … edible."

"Ha!" She barks out. "Is that all?"

I look at the food. Then I look at her, with her goofy grin and posture. Then I sigh. "It was the best thing I've ever eaten in my life …." I mumble to myself, hoping that'll be enough for her to cease this charade.

"What was that, Praetor?" She playfully cups a hand around her ear, as if she's having trouble hearing what I said.

"I said I liked it."

"Just 'liked' it?"

"It was good."

"Just 'good'."

"Ok, it was better than expected."

"And what was the 'expected'?"

I bite my tongue, fighting with myself to avoid saying anything too damning.

Saber kneels down, getting far too close to me for comfort. "You know, Praetor. I would be more than happy to let you have another bite if you want one."

Never before have I been so conflicted. Not even that time I'd been without a drink for two whole months only to find myself in the middle of rural Alabama surrounded by moonshiners. Have you ever fought your way past three dozen rednecks armed with only a spatula? Just to get a taste of cheap incorrectly distilled alcohol? No? Well then. You've certainly never lived.

"I loved it! You're the best chef to ever live. I don't know how the likes of Gordon Ramsay or Bobby Flay can even dare use the word 'chef' to describe themselves when masters such as yourself exist!" I bow deeply, tears streaming down my face. "Have mercy upon me oh great Saber-san. Without you('re food) I'm nothing but an empty man."

She stares at me in a daze. Clearly caught off guard by the amount of praise I've lavishly given her. It lasts but a moment before happiness overcomes her shock, and she beams at me with the loving aura of a proud mother.

"P-p-praetor." Tears well in the corners of her eyes. "Enjoy your meal."

I don't think twice, sinking my fork into the nearest morsel of chow and digging in.

Part of me feels like I'm forgetting something relatively important.

* * *

Meanwhile, in one of the various closets scattered around the former Einzbern mansion, a small Matou's stomach growls deeply. "Mmmm!" The sock stuffed into his mouth stops him from voicing his complaints. What it doesn't stop is his attempts at wrestling himself free from his bindings. The slight tightening of the rope stops that.

* * *

"Nah, I'm just overthinking." I burp and stand up from the table, stretching like a cat as I start moving.

Saber had eaten little, appearing more content to watch me than to partake in the meal herself, but she'd still managed to clear a significant chunk of the table by herself.

"The boys'll worship you for this, Saber." I gesture to the leftovers of our sporadic feast. "Most of 'em probably haven't had a homecooked meal in years."

"Mmm, I have no complaints then, if that is the case." She smiles once again. "I am glad they will enjoy it."

I snort at her comment. "It's too good for cretins like them." Then I shrug. "But it'll keep them content, and that means they won't complain about having to babysit for me." I walk out of the kitchen and to the front door. Chair legs scratch against the tile floor of the kitchen, signaling that Saber's moved to follow me. "Now, our bellies full we'll be in perfect shape to finish that little talk we were having!"

And with that I spin around, a triumphant smile on my face as I reveal that I had in fact not forgotten about my promise to finish our conversation.

The somewhat conflicted expression on my partner's face makes me grin even more. I must be a sadist, because I'm having far too much fun teasing this girl.

"Ah, I … cannot help but appreciate your … eagerness in learning my identity. But. Praetor, you have to understand my position in this." Oh? Her position? "I am far more comfortable in dealing with those that are more … open with their intentions. Do not take this the wrong way, Praetor, but I cannot help but be uneased by you."

'Uneased'? By little ole me? Whaaattt?

"To be completely honest, a part of you remind me of my … my mother." She swallows, seemingly showing an out of character moment of nervousness and anxiety. "And yet you are still different. Better than her. It all makes me quite conflicted in my opinion of you." She smiles now, a shaky one that threatens to flee at a moment's notice. "But I know deep down that you are still a good man. A great man. A worthy Praetor." I listen in silence to her explanation, her revelation as to why she's been somewhat reserved on the details regarding herself.

Here's a girl that tries very hard to be strong, very hard to be confident. She's the type that just lightens up a room when she enters the scene. And yet she's somewhat ... cautious all the same. Can I expect any less? This is someone who I presume was the same Emperor that was hunted by her own subjects. Forced to commit suicide to avoid being captured by soldiers pretending to be loyal to her.

Can I really blame her for trying to put that past her? For trying to avoid telling me about that part of her? As I said, trust is complex. And yet here I am, expecting her to trust me as much as I trust her just because we saved each other's lives a few times. How can I be so foolish to think she'd feel the same? Despite her happier demeanor, she's still the Servant I stole from their rightful Master, she's still the girl that died alone, hated by everyone. And who am I?

"Heh. You're being too generous."

Everything about her just stops. The tears that threatened to gush forth from her eyes. The slight shaking of her fists that made her look like she was impersonating Michael J. Fox. The quivering of her lip. It all just … stops.

I look her directly in the eyes, seeking to end this line of thought before it can bite us both in the ass.

"I'm many things. A great man isn't one of them." I start chuckling, a dark brooding laugh that seems to somber the atmosphere considerably. "I'll tell you exactly who I am. Exactly who I was and what I've come to be." If she still felt uneasy sharing her past with me than I'd simply have to start sharing more of mine with her. Not all of it. No, I couldn't do that. Not yet. But some of it was better than nothing.

Besides, it seems fair considering she's already told me she's an Emperor. And then there's that whole dream sequence I was shown. Granted that was an indirect thing (I'm assuming) but it still answered practically every question I had regarding her. That's way more than anything I've done for her.

Let's just start with something simple first. My combat abilities. Then we'll lead into a short insight on my past. Nothing too fancy.

"I focus on three branches of Magecraft. Alteration, Transmutation, and Reinforcement." Here we go. This is the easy part, an explanation as to how I work in a combat scenario. "Some people would call me an Alchemist. I've become partial to the more specific term 'gunsmith'."

"I presume this is because of your focus on firearms, Praetor?"

I nod in confirmation. "Exactly. But that focus wasn't brought about by the magical side of my life, but by the 'normalcy' I once had." I don't want to go too deep into this yet. Saber doesn't need to know too much about my childhood and upbringing to understand me, and I prefer to leave her guessing as of now over the finer details of my past before my 'quest'. So, I push past the questions she's going to ask me (I can already see her mouth opening in response) and continue forward with a separate line of thought. "In practice I function as a buffing unit, if we're to talk in RPG terms." Which I probably shouldn't talk in considering Saber has no clue as to what an RPG is.

Her blank stare is a testament to that fact.

Again I press forward without allowing her to interrupt. "Basically I increase the performance of objects around me to the point that they no longer are bound by the laws of physics. A mage's main goal is to break reality, is it not? I merely do this best when working with something I have prior knowledge in. Firearms being that something." It was an insane concept in theory. A magus was meant to turn away from modernity because it could be replicated with science. If I was doing something technology could copy I was no longer performing a 'miracle', and thus no longer performing magic.

Good thing I was doing something science would never be able to replicate.

"Through repetition, I have memorized hundreds of blueprints related to weaponry. If I wish, I can manufacture something in its original format." This was what I had done in our previous battles. It was easy, fast, and efficient with how little prana it cost. But it wasn't necessarily Magecraft. And it got me in a lot of trouble in the past.

"Or. I can stretch it beyond the realm of sanity." I did this on a smaller scale in how I used prana as a propellant instead of gunpowder. "With alteration I can stop a firearm from overheating, and thus expand into the idea of improving something past its normal boundaries. This is easier when I already have a basis to work with, instead of having to start from scratch." It's also faster if I don't have to go through the process of manufacturing something before increasing its potential. Sure, I could make it with such attributes from the get-go, but I've found it's less likely for my construct to blow up in my face if I use the process that has a few extra steps involved. Like taking a TV dinner out of the microwave to stir it before putting it back in, instead of just forgetting about it and walking away. You're going to get a less shit product as an end result.

"Which explains you having your men bring you prebuilt weapons." She cradles her chin with a hand, thinking over the explanation I've given her. "What do you mean by 'improving something past its normal boundaries'? What else can you do?"

I can't help but chuckle at that. "Anything with the right imagination, and a sufficient amount of prana. Oh, and of course I still have to follow the rule of Equivalent Exchange. If I go to far I'll end up being a cripple. Or worse." So nothing too crazy like a catapult that launches miniature nuclear warheads. Trust me, I tried that. "Something like infinite ammunition would be the best I could make, as I'd have to constantly focus on crafting replacement rounds into the magazine of the gun while also compensating for any hang-ups that could potential cause a jam." And, also have enough material around me to constantly rebuild the gun as I strip shreds of it away to make bullets to reload the casings as they're being expelled after ejecting. "It's pretty impractical, because so many things can go wrong, but still cool at parties."

"So, not something we could use in battle?"

I shrug. "Maybe with the right preparation. But in all likelihood? Nope."

"Praetor ..." She almost whines at me.

"Listen, I said I could do practically anything with the right imagination. That's just the first thing that popped into my mind." I shrug, completely disregarding her concerns. "The easiest thing for me to do is to focus on quantity and not quality, and therefore my default choice is to just build a mundane weapon from scratch. And if you want to be technical most of the stuff I focus on, being tied to firearms, is practically useless in battle anyway since we're fighting Servants."

"So, from what I can gather, Praetor, you are saying you are completely useless in this War?"

I almost choke in shock at how bluntly she's disregarded my life's work. "What?! No! I can basically turn common military equipment into Mystic Codes! You're telling me that's not useful?"

"I am sure it is useful in a way, Praetor. But overall it sounds like you are vastly outclassed in terms of proficiency in choosing such a ... niche style of combat." She gets a little closer to me, patting my shoulder in pity with a 'there, there' style of comforting me. "It is beautiful that you have such passion for firearms, Praetor. Despite their savage nature." I don't even comment on that insult. "I am sure we can still figure out something in combat, you did well enough our last few fights given what you have to work with."

Ok, now she's just being unintentionally condescending.

"I can buff a bullet to the point that it basically becomes hitscan with a linear trajectory, defying gravity itself. Turning an average rifle into a railgun essentially."

"There, there, Praetor."

"I can infuse magical properties into a rifle, making it into a sentient being, able of acting on its own free will. Firing without something pulling the trigger, aiming on the dime, jamming when someone besides me tries to use it."

"It is alright, Praetor. I still believe in you."

"I'm capable of taking a metal spork and turning it into a .50 cal round. I can morph an AK into a Mosin Nagant and vice versa. I've made bullets curve! Curve! Like in Wanted!" Now, I'm the one whining, trying in vain to convince her that my style of magic is not completely worthless.

"Praetor, this sounds impressive, but how would you use any of this in practice?"

"In practice, I'd be completely useless against Servants in everything but stalling them and buying myself some time."

"See? Do not try to combat Servants, then. It sounds like you would fare better against the average Master."

... She has a point. And at least she's not completely writing off what I'm capable of.

"I'm just working with what I know. I just go off of my gut most of the time."

"And what is it that you know, Praetor? Besides guns."

I pause, thinking about how best to explain my 'specialties'. "Are you familiar with the idea of Elemental Affinities?"

She blinks, caught off guard by the question I've asked out of the blue. "My court Mage spoke of such things briefly, Praetor, but I never took much interest in such matters."

Court mage? I had no idea that Ancient Rome had such a thing. Though I can't say I'm surprised. Seems Mages were involved with politics even back then.

"Well, the basic school of thought is that there's five. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind and Void. Though there are divergent Elements from these if you're of a different school." I take a seat at the first step of this mansion's main staircase, patting a spot beside me to entice Saber to sit beside me. She does so, gracefully holding the hem of her dress as she sits so as to avoid ruffling it up.

"From the way you are speaking, I'm assuming your Element is one of those that are 'divergent'?"

I nod, confirming the question she's proposed. It's good to see she's catching on to where I'm going with this.

"I was blessed, being born with Double Elements. I was the seventh person in my lineage to have two. Metal, as well as Wood. They seem so contradictory, and yet I've found them to complement one another quite well."

She considers her hands, mulling over this tidbit of information I've given her. "It seems my Praetor proves himself to be even more unique than I had thought!" She beams at me, likely trying to lighten the somber mood that's surrounded us. It almost works too. The corners of my lips threaten to tug upward, but I resist the temptation. What I'm telling her is important. Now's one of those rare moments I must be serious in my demeanor.

"Perhaps. But most people in my family have shared those Elements, albeit in a singular fashion. Metal is our most common one, followed by Fire, and then Wood." And most of my ancestors did something so much more with their gift. Saber had a point. What have I done with the power given me?

"That's why I chose to focus on what I have. Crafting is what I'm best at." I sigh, there's no use justifying these things. I've spent too many years practicing this brand of Magecraft to be able to go back and switch to something more practical like shooting fireballs at people. "I suppose I should also tell you my Origin. Maybe it'll help you understand. Are you familiar with what that is?"

"Again, only vaguely, Praetor. It is what defines a Magus, no?"

"In simplified terms. There's some convoluted bull regarding the Root and all that, but I won't bore you with the details. Most aren't fortunate enough to learn theirs, but my mother had a 'friend' that was rather skilled in deducing these things." I swallow a wad of saliva. This is the moment of truth. I'm going to be telling her something that's deeply personal all while telling her it in the vaguest way possible. A mage's Origin is pretty much the identity of their soul. In telling her mine she'll know what drives me. Or she'll at least have the foundation for discovering why I exist.

Is this not what I wanted?

'Let me tell you who I am.' Were those not my exact words to this girl?

I'd be lying if I said I was nervous.

How strange. I don't usually feel nervous.

"Praetor, do not force yourself. If you do not wish to–!"

I silence her with a subtle wave of the hand. No, I didn't do any Jedi mind tricks. I merely mimed out the action of brushing aside her concerns.

From her perspective, I'm essentially sharing my deepest darkest secrets to a person that's not even willing to give me their name. This goes beyond just explaining my combat abilities to her. She must feel guilty now. How unfortunate. I hadn't meant for her to feel that way.

From my perspective, I'm just sharing information that's been long overdue. With this she'll be able of trusting me easier, and she'll also have the final piece of the puzzle as to what I'm capable of.

Of course I have to tell her.

"My Origin is Creation."

Who would ever guess that a single word could hold so much meaning?

I was born to build. To manufacture. I'm a walking Industrial Revolution, meant to hand out the Gift of Glock to all the good little boys and girls. My very existence is focused on construction and crafting.

I could have been anything in the mundane or the magical realms. With the right focus I could have been what my mother wanted me to be, a skilled researcher in the Clock Tower focused intensely on unraveling the origin of the human soul, and thus finding Akasha. After all, who would be better suited for such a task than the man whose very existence focused on Creation?

I could have been a marvel in the field of alchemy instead of just a practitioner. I could have been the rebirth of Solomon ibn Gabirol.

I could have found the secret of immortality.

So many diverging paths that I could have followed.

But ….

Being a researcher sounded boring, and I had no interest in Akasha.

Kabbalah was an … interesting School, but overall I found I lacked the ambition to learn it.

Immortality could have been possible. I'd heard of Mages building husks of themselves and transitioning their minds into them near their death. But who cared about such a thing? Fools with regrets that kept them from dying in peace. And those were the sorts that never found their dreams fulfilled.

I didn't want that.

I didn't want any of that.

My father showed me the way.

In one of the most indirect ways possible.

In the way that spelled the doom of my bloodline.

I turned towards modernity.

I swept my gaze towards the mundane.

Even if it was stupid. Even if it's made me impractical.

"You know how I said I didn't have a wish for the Grail?" She nods, completely drawn into what I'm saying. "That wasn't always true. I once had a dream. A goal, if you will." I sigh at the memory of younger me. The boy that spited his mother's wishes to become just a Mage. The boy that shoved aside his father's pleas to case aside the Moonlit World just as he did.

"I wanted a world where no one was defenseless. Where no one was unarmed. A world where everyone was free to live their life how they wished." That was what I'd wished to create. A Paradise.

The Garden of Eden reborn through force.

The only way I could do that was in studying modern weaponry and manufacturing. Even though I could produce exquisite quality, I needed to focus on quantity. Even if I was essentially casting aside the "Mystery" to become a glorified assembly line.

"A world where everyone was armed?"

I nod, "Yeah, a world of mutually assured destruction. But on a smaller scale."

"Mutually assured destruction?" She seems puzzled by this phrase. Apparently the Grail hadn't deemed that a worthy thing to explain.

"The policy the U.S. had during the Cold War. It was based off the idea that if the Soviets struck us with nukes we'd make sure to send just as many their way. And because of that neither side was brave enough to push the button that'd doom the world."

"That sounds terrible, Praetor."

I laugh yet again, not at all offended by her disapproval of the idea. "I disagree. That policy is the only reason this world hasn't ended in a nuclear holocaust. We had two World Wars before it, and they happened within twenty-five years of one another. After that policy? Nothing has come close to them."

She ponders this, still visibly uneasy about the idea. "How does this relate to your 'wish'? How does it relate to your Origin?" She's completely dropped the question regarding how this relates to combat, likely wishing to learn more about why I do what I do instead of how I do it.

I crack my knuckles, and start leaning against the step behind me for added support. "Simple, I thought that I could replicate that tense armistice on a local level." I shrug. "An armed society is a polite society, after all. The younger me thought this could be spread across a global scale. That I could somehow manage to supply all eight point five billion of us with a firearm to call our own." That's why he cast aside quality for quantity. I only managed to turn that around in the last decade or so, and because of this I have the smorgasbord of specialties most would find useless. I sigh, chuckling internally at the naivety of my younger self, and the dream I once had. "As for its relation to my Origin, well, let's just say I believed I could create a new fate for humanity."

"Did it work?" Is she actually asking that question? If it had worked, would I be referring to this all in the past tense?

A frown forms upon my face, morphing my lips into a downward slope directed towards my jawline. "No, I learned quickly that it was impossible." I'd started in Central America, hoping to destroy the cartels that'd parasitically feasted on their fellow citizens for generations. It had been a disaster. "The weapons always found themselves in the hands of those that did not deserve them." And that single thought showed the failure of my dream. Not everyone deserved the right to defend themselves. That was the hypocrisy of my actions. I didn't even follow through with my original goal in arming everyone. I was just trying to arm the innocent. I was choosing who deserved to live and who deserved to die. And those I'd deemed doomed? They didn't take kindly to my sentiments.

I'd learned in less than a month that my entire plan was ridiculous.

Who would have thought that it was a bad idea to go door to door giving people free Berettas?

Certainly not I.

The weapons I'd given out almost always found themselves in the hands of those they were meant to stop. I'd indirectly increased the power of those I wished to defeat. And that was only with the few dozen or so people that decided to accept my 'gift'. Hundreds turned me down outright. Either out of fear I was working with the cartels myself, or out of fear that in arming they'd draw attention to themselves.

People preferred living in slavery over dying free.

"In time, the situation sorted itself out, but my involvement did little to end the bloodshed. In fact, I inadvertently escalated it." There was one other big downside to giving someone a gun in a warzone. It made them a fellow combatant.

I'd accidentally turned children, mothers, and elderly alike into soldiers against criminal organizations that had no qualms with killing innocents. They had even less reservation when it came to fighting those they saw as competition. Men that wished to keep their families safe became targets just because I gave them the power to defend themselves. Instead of just being shot they were tortured, then shot. Turned into examples as to why you shouldn't resist

My dream. It was a world without heroes. And it'd come true. Albeit in a much different way than I'd expected.

"I wanted a world where everyone had the power to save themselves. A world where we didn't need a Superman to come to our rescue. Where we could put on our own capes." I smile, a bitter thing as I thought over my failures of the past.

My time in Central America had been enlightening.

I'd received an epiphany, a message from God himself. And by 'God' I mean my father. He'd somehow learned what I was doing and managed to get in contact with me.

His message read as such.

'Stop giving random people guns, you fuckwit.'

I ignored him, and instead figured 'maybe it's just this part of the world I can't save'. Crossing off an entire set of countries from my 'utopia' for the future.

I began to travel the world after that, hoping to find the 'cradle of civilization' where I could build a better tomorrow.

No matter where I went I just made things worse.

I wished to be a liberator, to lift the people of the world up into a utopia without war.

I'd simply poured gasoline on a raging inferno.

Sure, the death toll wasn't exuberant. Probably a few extra hundred dead civilians. But at the time it was heartbreaking.

I'd left home at the ripe age of sixteen, hitchhiking across the U.S. before I managed to illegally slip into Mexico and down into South America.

I went there thinking I could solve the world's problems. I could have taken my own arms and used them against those that were causing the violence and war, but wouldn't it have been more effective to teach others how to do it for themselves?

After all, 'give a man a fish and you'll feed him for a day, teach a man to fish and you'll feed him for his life.'

My failures showed this to be impossible to replicate in this situation. The man fishing didn't have to worry about competing against a bull shark swimming beside him.

"But I like to look on the bright side of things. Because of my utter incompetence I was enlightened. It only took three continents with three separate conflicts for me to figure it out." Here my smile becomes genuine. And why should it not? It may have taken me a year and a half to figure out something that should have been apparent to me instantly, but I at least figured it out.

"You have to look out for yourself and those you care about. Because those are the only ones you can trust to not fuck up. There's no need to worry about the faceless masses." It's a deeply cynical statement, but rationally sound to any normal sane person. But alas, here's where my second revelation comes into play. "I did some soul searching, and I found out why I'd desired to save these people I knew nothing about." I was no hero. Even as a sixteen-year-old brat that was true. The time for heroes was at an end. The last one in this world had been the so-called 'Red Archer' that'd operated primarily in Iraq. And he ... didn't turn out so well.

"The real reason I wanted to do that was the fame. The glory that would have come my way from pushing the entire world past its imperfections. I was being selfish, and because of that I'd thought illogically that I could fix the problem." How foolish. War had been a vice plaguing humanity for generations. That's what I thought as a child. That's what my father told me after two tours in the Middle East.

He had said "Humanity will never change so long as one of us has a big stick." I had read that as _I'll just give everyone a stick then, and I'll balance it all out._

How very wrong I was.

"I had thought I could Create a utopia. In reality, I was merely trying to create my own legend." I had long insulted the simplistic nature of Magi. Their arrogance. Their need to be God.

And yet wasn't I doing the same thing?

"I wanted to be a god. The messiah who'd usher in a future without bloodshed."

Why am I telling her all of this? This is far too much. I can't be sure as to how she'll react. I don't think she'll kill me outright, or anything like that but … wouldn't that be preferable to her silently distrusting me? That could lead to both our demises further down the road.

Something wet runs down my face. How strange. We must have a leak in the roof. That's some bullshit there. I paid enough for this damn place that it should be perfect.

"I was no different than the standard stereotype of a mage. Except I tried to pretend I was better than them because I was working for others and not myself. Not for the Root." That's probably why I chose to pursue modern weaponry. I could have taken the route of disarming everyone with anything more sophisticated then a sword. Or even disarmed them completely and made everyone 'armed' in the sense that they could defend themselves with their fists. But guns were the great equalizers, and just so happened to also be hated by those of the Clock Tower. Was it just a childish sense of spite that brought me here?

Even if it wasn't, all along I was working for myself. I wanted to be the world's only hero. The one that created a new Golden Age.

Was that any different from those who wished to recreate the Age of the Gods?

"Praetor." Something grasps my hand. It's warm … and soft.

"Do not mourn for the past. Cherish the present, and hope for the future."

What? The person talking to me is someone that's two millennia old.

And she's still just a young lady.

"Cherish the present, huh?"

"Yes. You wished to end war, did you not?"

I think about that question. I wanted to create a world of peace, did I not? Or did I just want a world so full of war than the fire would burn itself out?

"Yes. That was the end goal."

Saber's tone is joyful … and, is that a hint of pride in her inflection? "Well then, your dream was beautiful. Even if it was brought about for selfish reasons."

"Eh?"

"Your apparent narcissism only matters because you failed, Praetor. Had you succeeded I would imagine no one would care about your motives."

"But–"

"And besides, it is not like your past was the worst. You set out to save the world. Even if you failed, you still were valiant in the end."

Except ….

That doesn't account for what I did after recognizing my failure.

"After that though. I … worked with one of those cartels." Turns out you need money to survive. And when you've successfully pissed off most of the world's criminal and terrorist organizations you need a lot of money to even exist.

Sure, I could have hunted them all down one by one. But I was sixteen, freshly traumatized from seeing everything come crashing down in front of me, and had screwed over so many people that in using magic to save myself I would have just pissed off the Enforcers even more.

Oh, did I mention that they were also hunting me down at this point?

Apparently, using Alteration to mass produce modern day weaponry was 'distilling the purity of Thaumaturgy', or some shit like that.

Which was bullshit.

The Clock Tower made no specific rule prohibiting someone from crafting Uzis and giving them away to random strangers. Not a single rule. Trust me, I spent the time reading through all the legalese hogwash they pushed out. They've got it all in these annoying little pamphlets. They look like travel brochures, except they explain how you 'shouldn't reveal the presence of the mystical arts to the mundane'.

Who cares if I was diluting the quality of Magecraft by spreading it around in the form of well-crafted guns? It was a noble cause.

So noble that they sent a squad of mooks after me.

So, I capitulated.

And I started selling what I once gave away as free.

Just so I could avoid the large list of bastards that wanted to either dissect me, decapitate me, or detain me.

Yeah. Detain. Interpol got involved at one point. Apparently, I'd also broken several international laws.

And by 'several' I mean somewhere between thirty-six and forty-nine.

Kind of sucks that they didn't send anyone interesting after me.

Guess I should have been stealing things instead of giving them away for free? I might have gotten a cool inspector for a rival.

Saber looks at me as I bow my head in shame. I can feel her gaze, boring into my flesh.

"You helped criminals?"

"Yes, and I became one. Eventually becoming big enough in the underworld to form my own little organization."

And from there I was lost.

No longer the adolescent that wanted to strengthen the weak.

Just a shell of a man, whose only wish was to atone for his failures.

That's my wish in this War, though I refuse to tell Saber it.

I want to do something heroic, to balance out all the evil I'd done unintentionally and intentionally.

I have a debt that needs to be repaid. But sadly, I don't even know how steep the bill is.

So, I'll just save the world by stopping anyone from getting the Grail. Because there's no way someone willing to kill for such a thing would have a noble wish in the end.

Or, I could die for someone.

Surely that would wipe away my sins just the same?

A life is ever precious is it not?

That's my goal now.

I wish to Create a happy ending for myself.

Mutata in Manibus Meis.

Change in My Hands.

That is my command to this world.

And to my history.

"I see." Saber interrupts my inner musings, bringing me back to the present. "Praetor?"

"Yeah?"

"I am considered a tyrant by most." She turns her body towards me, still holding onto my hand as she does so. "A persecutor of the Christians. The one who did nothing but observe as my city burned." She smiles, a small, bitter smile. "History hates me. I loved my people but I could never understand them. I killed my own mother, and caused my mentor and first wife to commit suicide." Where is she going with this?

"You're point?"

"My point is, Praetor, that I am still an Emperor of Rome. And you are a citizen of Rome, as well as my partner." She stands up, dragging me up in front of her. "We should not fret over failures in the past. How can we continue to walk forward for Rome if we're constantly looking behind us?"

I refuse to meet her eyes. I have no future. All I have is my past. Saber seems to catch on to this, reading my thoughts as if they're visibly plastered across my face.

"My name …." My eyes widen as I realize she's going to say her True Name. "Is Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Fifth Emperor of Rome."

...

There's silence between us. She's completely quiet as she waits for me to react, likely fearing I'll reject her. What an idiot.

I'm silent for a different reason.

"Now?"

"Hmm?"

"You thought now was the best possible time to reveal that?!"

"Ow, ow, ow! Stop it, Praetor!" I can't help myself. I start grinding my fist into the top of her skull, giving her the gift of the noogie.

"You moron! What the hell does that have to do with anything?!"

"I thought I should tell you my name to cheer you up! You have told me much of yourself after all?!"

"I already knew your damn name! Why the hell are you making it about you when I'm over here having an existential crisis?!"

"I am sorry, Praetor! I thought it might–! Wait. Mmm, did you say you already knew my name?"

"Yes! Pesci! I've known who you were for a while, idiot!"

"Praetor, are you what the natives call 'tsundere'?"

"No! I'm just really bummed out that you'd just spout your identity out now! It's really fucking anticlimactic!"

"Ah. You have a point, Praetor."

"Aren't you supposed to be the biggest drama queen? Shouldn't you understand there's a certain flow in these things?! You shouldn't just spout it out all willy-nilly!"

"Praetor, are you complaining about me not being theatrical enough? In telling you something you apparently already knew?"

"Well you didn't know I already knew, did ya?!"

Again silence.

"Dante."

"Eh?" Did she just actually use my name? Holy shit.

"I am glad you are my Praetor." She crosses her arms, nodding to herself as if she's discovered something of worth. "You are far better than the blue-haired child that summoned me."

"Uh … thanks?" Not much of a compliment considering we're talking about the kid that apparently can't even perform magic.

"Now, I still have numerous questions for you, but I am a generous Emperor so I shall postpone asking them until later."

At this point I don't even care. She's just passed the one test I had set up for her in telling me her True Name. She could ask me anything (within the realm of reason) and I'd probably answer it. Who even gives a shit when we're at this point? "Actually, I kind of would prefer if we got them done and–"

"Praise me for my mercifulness, Praetor!"

I sneer at her. "You don't actually expect me to–"

"Mmm!" She pouts. I'm reminded of a fat child that ate too many Warhead candies. Except … something's different. The pout has a slight increase in its levels of poutiness. It's barely noticeable, but still I can pick it up despite her expression looking like a sinkhole made of flesh.

"Mmm!" Again, she does that weird murmuring/humming thing. Almost as if she's trying to hypnotize me with it. It doesn't work though, instead I just look at her like someone would look at a retarded toddler.

"What are you doing?"

"Mmm!"

"Stop it."

"Mmm!"

"I'm not praising you, goddammit."

"Mmm!"

"That noise is annoying."

"Mmm!"

"Not doing it."

 _Mmm!_ Ok now she's doing it in my mind. Shit.

 _What do you hope to accomplish here?_

"Mmm!" She just added a few exclamation marks. Big whoop.

 _ **Umu.**_

Not showing any teeth, she smiles. A dopey, Down Syndrome looking expression that makes me think she might have some form of Asperger's. Or maybe I'm just the retard and I've forgotten how to properly translate words. Maybe these 'Mmm's have actually been her saying something worthwhile to me.

Then she starts blushing, her cheeks turning a light shade of scarlet as she closes her eyes and creases her brow.

"What are you–?"

I feel a great sense of trepidation pass over me. A warning that something is not right with the world. It's a premonition. There's no other word that can be used to describe it. Well there is one other word.

"Wat."

"Umu. Umu. Umu, umu, umu!"

"What the fuck is this shit and how do I shut it off?!"

"Umu!"

"Shut up!"

"Umu!"

"No! No umu! Numu!"

"Umu!"

Did the translator part of my brain break?! Is that what happened?! What is this terrifying language she's speaking in?!

"God I'm sorry for calling you Joe Pesci! Make it stop! End it! Smite me already!"

"Umu, umu, umu!"

"Mom, I'm sorry for not making you proud!"

"Umu!"

"Dad, please, I swear I didn't eat the last pudding in the fridge before I left!"

"Umu!"

"Is this your Noble Phantasm?! Is that what this power is?!"

"Umu?"

"I think my mind's broken! My head, it hurts!"

"Umu!"

"That's not a good thing, goddammit!"

"Umu."

"Ok, fine! I get it!" And with that I completely toss aside my pride. "You're the greatest of all time! There I praised you, now shut up!"

"Umu."

"You're joking."

"Umu."

"Listen, you're a human being (I think). I'm not going to–!"

"Umu!"

"Oh, fuck it."

This is how I ended up patting Saber/Nero on the top of her head. Like a dog.

"There, there. Good Nero. Who's a good girl? You are. You're a good girl Nero."

"Yay!"

I make sure to 'pat' her head just a little rougher after that.

* * *

 **AN: First of all I want to give a big thanks to all of you for making this story my most reviewed story overall. We surpassed GEGE in terms of follows, favs, and reviews a while back and I'm going to go ahead and take that as meaning this story's met my goal of surpassing the original in quality. At least, I'm hoping that's the case, lol. I got a lot of amazing feedback and suggestions on the last chapter in particular, and it's given me a few ideas for the future in terms of what I'm going to do. First, I'll go ahead and ask everyone to please point out any errors or misunderstandings I might have made in summing up Dante's magical potential, etc. I'm going to be frank and just admit I haven't seen or read Garden of Sinners or Tsukihime (mainly because I can't find the movies of GOS anywhere in English, and I haven't had the time to play through the VN for Tsukihime). Which means I'm operating on only one third of the Nasuverse in terms of how things work, so I'm expecting the finer details of Dante's explanation to be either flat out wrong or misguided. If you'd be so kind, don't hesitate to point it out to me! Now as for this chapter overall ... well I rewrote it about three times, and that's why it's been delayed by about a month. Originally I was going to introduce Rin. Then I was going to leave it off on Rin's introduction being the cliffhanger. Then I decided "You know what? I already have like twelve thousands works here. Let's just call it a day so I don't put this off any longer." Hence the rather mediocre way it ends. I also decided to bring in the 'umu' which I originally was just replacing with 'mmm' because I don't recall the English subtitles ever actually having 'umu' in them. But, I figured "Why not toss it in just as an added little reference" and so Dante has essentially unlocked Nero's true Noble Phantasm. The Power of Umu. XD**

 **Before I finally get to the reviews, I have two announcements to make. The first being that I included the same poll that was on Space Battles onto my author profile page. So you can leave your choice on there as well if you'd prefer. The second being that I have three plans currently regarding future Fate related content not involving Dante. I don't know if they'll be one shots or full stories but the basic premise is a story involving one historical figure that Nasu has yet to include in canon replacing a canon Servant in one of the Grail Wars. As of now the three figures I want to see are Teddy Roosevelt and Charles XII of Sweden (also known as Carolus Rex for all you Sabaton fans) and Gustavus Adolphus. I'm planning on Teddy either being a Rider or a Berserker and Charles being summoned as either a Ruler or a Rider, Gustavus is going to be a Ruler for sure. I'm going to have more information on my profile page relating to this, but please let me know how you feel about the idea, preferably in PM (as I don't want to unfairly inflate this story's reviews). If any of you would be interested in the idea yourself, I'm also open to it being adopted by others that could potentially do more with it than I could.**

 **Now, onto my responses to all your reviews! Forgive me if I don't respond with much detail (as I wish to avoid rambling on) and feel free to PM me if you have any extra questions, comments or concerns.**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: Explicit in the sense that she's going to start off screaming profanity at him when he reveals "Hey, lady? I'm not your Master. He is." Points to Shinji and ends it off with "I just summoned you to babysit him. Good luck!" XD**

 **Anthem of the Night: First off, it's awesome you've started updating Out of the Black! I read your last few chapters and I have to say it surprised me that you killed off Medea so quickly. That and your choice for who Assassin is makes me interested in seeing where you go with things. Also, I find it hilarious how you had Avenger sell out Shirou in the last chapter, immediately saying 'blame him, not me' to Rin XD. Now, as for your review: well I'm just going to say things are going to get more insane from here on out. Just wait until the next few dream sequences we get showing off Nero and Dante's past (yes I'm still going to include them even though Dante now knows her name for sure). I'm planning on including all that awful stuff Nasu either forgot or just didn't want to include to make Nero more sympathetic. We're talking the death of her daughter, Sabina, that one slave guy she castrated who looked like her second wife, etc. It's going to be a roller coaster of feels (hopefully) from here on out!**

 **Guest 1: Coincidence in this regard because even though I 100% RE6 and enjoyed Jake's character I hated his campaign enough that I don't think I'll ever make mention of it in anything I write, lol. But I really like that comparison nonetheless. I was thinking more of a King Kong type of deal going on with Dante being Ann XD. You could also see Jab as being like those** **Regenerador things in RE4. Glad to see you find that name as amusing as I do!**

 **Synthetic Knight: I agree that the third-person is a tad inferior to first-person. It just doesn't have the same potential that knowing Dante's inner thoughts allows for, ya know? I'll probably only be using it in Nero centric chapters like the previous one. Thanks for reading!**

 **King0fP0wers: Good to hear from you again, my man! I'd just continue to call him Dante, Thomas was the young kid that went from trying to 'save the world' to trying to get rich. Dante's the guy that's already failed and succeeded in some regards and just wants to win the Grail for redemption. Eh, might have spoken too soon regarding the hero complex, lol. I'd agree that he's a lot like Kiri, but unlike the Magus Killer his only reason for trying to save the world was to gain power and notoriety for himself. Even now he's only doing what he's doing so he can die not as a failure but as someone that made an impact. He's kind of like the old Greek heroes of old that saved the day because they wanted to get something in return. Believe it or not Kaz is the one that tied Dante to Taiga's bunch. I don't want to give him too much power over the story (since he's another OC) but he's a semi-important part of Dante's backstory and just so happens to be related to the sumo wrestler guy Taiga has in her inner circle. Your wording in regards to Kiara and Dante meeting is ... hilarious to say the least XD. See the thing here is that I could totally see Dante and Kiara (just as I could see potential 'routes' involving Dante with one of the others) but she's mainly meant to be one of his last ties to his past. Her and Kaz, who as you can see is kind of a complete moron. Kiara and Dante would be more like Kiara and Thomas. I have been thinking about writing 'omake' type short stories after this one showing Dante getting together with various girls. One for Rin (who's popping up soon), Nero, and Kiara. In honor of the three routes in Stay Night. But I'll probably only do that if people would like to see that sort of thing. And yup, we have a Kaz here, in homage to Miller, because "why not?" Though obviously he's drastically different than the Kaz in MGS. The hilarious part here is that Vlad as a Zerker seems to be more sane than Lancer Vlad from Extra. Or at least, that's what I'm going off of based on Grand Order. Well, I'd say her poison wouldn't effect him. It doesn't effect the MC in Grand Order does it? And I think that's only because he's the Master of Mashu and somehow that makes him invulnerable to toxin (I have no idea why, it just does). I'd imagine the Apostle being able to become drunk has little to do with their ability to handle toxin. He/she either chose to be able to become drunk (for whatever reason) or alcohol works in a different way. Regardless Serenity could probably still kill an Apostle. I recall King Hassan and Richard went after one when they were alive so surely the Hassans would be able to kill them. Though I feel she wouldn't indirectly kill one that's strong enough to resist. Good luck in however you choose to go about it! Hans is probably the greatest two star Servant in Grand Order, so I can definitely see him pulling off something insane by buffing Dante.**

 **Guest 2: Ok, I'm a sucker for Nitocris so I'm highly considering her as a potential Caster. Alexandre Dumas just seems like he'd totally hit it off with Dante though! They seem like the perfect match made in Hell, lol. Though I'm still somewhat reserved with him because 1: I haven't been able to find an English version of Strange Fake, and 2: as you say we haven't learned too much about his potential yet (though I imagine he has some sort of trump card a la Shakespeare and Medea). Prelati is ... interesting, but considering her work in trying to summon demons (and the fact that she's the one that led Gilles to murdering children) I'd imagine Dante would dislike her immensely. He has an open mind, and as shown in his complete acceptance of Nero he's willing to look past someone's history if they 'prove' themselves to be trustworthy, but someone like Prelati or Gilles would undoubtedly push him to his limit in terms of what he's willing to accept. Gilles would probably instantly die a la a Command Spell.**

 **Guest 3: That means a lot! Like, seriously, that's entirely what I was hoping this story would be and why I left GEGE up still. It's not completely the same as the original (so you can still enjoy the first rendition for what it is) but it's similar, and hopefully able of improving on the original's foundation.**

 **Tomster627: I hear ya. It's mainly just going to come about in backstory/dream sequence chapters where Nero learns about Dante's past. Just so I can do the whole Ebeneezer Scrooge thing with Nero seeing the 'ghosts' of Dante's past. And if you thought that part was funny, just you wait until Rin shows up next chapter XD.**

 **Darebear the bear: I definitely wouldn't apologize for double posting, because you brought something to my attention that I had no idea existed and I'm definitely going to go somewhere with it in the future. Plus it means I have a second review, lol. That, right there is probably one of the coolest ideas I've heard. Having Kiara summon Nero's daughter like that. I have a few concerns though, the first being the fact that she'd potentially be a divine spirit due to Nero making her a god in death (and divine spirits being kind of impossible to summon). She'd probably just be a Heroic Spirit that has a Divinity trait, or maybe be like Romulus who locked his Divinity away with Imperial Privilege. It's a really cool idea though. Originally I wasn't going to do much with Kiara as a villain (she was mainly to be a support character) and Gawain and Leo were to be the final boss. But with this? Well, this gives me some ideas. I just have to decide if I want them to be in this story or in some strange CCC/Heaven's Feel version of this story. One where Kiara is the main heroine. But in doing that we're probably talking months if not years in the future and nothing soon (because I really want to have Dante troll the characters of Zero before then). I'm going to consider it heavily though, my other concern is in relation to how she'd pull off the summoning when everyone else is already summoned? Of course she could do a Kirei and steal Command Spells, but could she then summon her own Servant on top of that? As for Dante summoning a magical girl ... I almost died from laughter at the thought! Just imagining him summoning Ilya as a Servant instead is funny. I'm unfamiliar with Nanoha (and most of the magical girl genre) so I'll of course have to look into that first. Still, just thinking about him trying to summon someone like he did in GEGE only to get a magical girl is causing me to chuckle. I have to agree with you on most of those Servants too. But I'd also add that Kiyohime and Raikou would frustrate him to no end because of their clinginess. Though I'd say he could potentially do fine with Nightingale. She's ... eccentric, but so is Dante after all. As for Kiara, well, he got along with her in the past (despite what he says) so he'd probably do fine with her a second time. Though he'd be pissed she somehow became a Heroic Spirit and forgot about him (not knowing she's from a parallel universe). Jeanne Alter though? I can get behind that. Maybe in the future I could whip up a story that's just one-shots of Dante summoning Servants completely incompatible with him, lol. And thanks for the review, I'm glad you're loving the story as much as I'm loving to write it!**

 **T51b Moridin: I'm really hoping your username's referencing Fallout, because it's awesome if it is. Other than that I'll just say that all of those things you listed is what I was going for XD. Besides the part about the reading being painful, I only meant for that to be the case if you're talking about the cringyness of Dante and not the quality of the writing itself.**

 **Guest 4: My God I think you've given me the idea I plan on going with if I write Dante as a Master in Zero. I can just imagine the look of sheer fury on Kayneth's face when he realizes not one, but two of his catalysts were stolen by two separate bastards! He'd probably still fly out to Japan just to try and beat the shit out of the jackasses that robbed him XD. Dante and Diarmuid would be ... strange? They'd be at each other's throats for most of it, with Diarmuid grudgingly accepting the asshole that's summoned him and Dante frustrated with how Diarmuid doesn't have the balls to stand up for himself because of "chivalry". Still, he wouldn't be as much of a dick to him as Kayneth, which is saying a lot to be honest.**

 **Guest 5: Ooooh, I really like that idea too! Atlanta is pretty cool in my opinion, and her dream of a world where every child would be happy would coincide well with Dante's ideals. The only problem would be in getting to the point where she actually told him her wish. Up until then she'd hate him and he'd probably be annoyed with her. She'd also be disgusted at his crafting as it relies on modern weapons. As for how he'd handle the rest of his 'team'? Well, to be honest? He'd probably despise all of them on some leve. 'sides Kairi and Spartacus. Maybe he'd grudgingly accept Achilles. Semiramis would be someone he'd give a shot but wouldn't trust, same with Shirou (when all the other Association Masters disappear), Mordred would piss him off with her attitude, Karna would piss him off with his lack of attitude, Shakespeare would be ... an enigma to him.**


	12. Sister Golden Hair

**Disclaimer: Due to the intolerable lateness of this update I'm planning on uploading another chapter for this story either this week or next, instead of turning my attention back to Transparent. Hence the rather abrupt cliffhanger we leave off on. Originally this chapter was pushing the 20k word mark.**

* * *

 **Chapter 12- Sister Golden Hair**

"What of your 'equipment' Praetor?"

With our little 'moment' complete we've started to prepare for departure. Of course, I'd completely forgotten that I'd wanted to gear up before leaving and had started for the door after managing to pry the palm of my hand from Nero's head. Hence, Nero having to remind me.

"Hmm?" I frown in thought. "Ah, you're right. I almost forgot." I make a quick trip down into the basement as Nero waits near the entrance, returning back to her within a minute.

She looks me over, noticing how I've now pulled my arms through the white jacket that'd been draped across my shoulders.

"What did you get, Praetor?"

I shrug. "Oh you know …. A little of this. A little of that." A frag grenade falls out of my sleeve as I wave aside her concerns. We both glare at the explosive as it rolls across the floor.

"Praetor." The raised eyebrow and crossed arms tells me she's not pleased.

"We're going to war, aren't we?"

She sighs. "Yes, but how do you expect to smuggle that all past the authorities as we walk through the city?"

"I have an active imagination."

"What does that mean?"

"Remember what I said about being able to do practically anything with the right imagination and enough prana? Well, that's Magecraft in a nutshell really. You just have to think outside of the box." The grenade starts folding up upon itself, like an origami figure working in reverse. Nero watches this with a critical eye, watching for anything that could potentially go wrong.

I don't blame her. I'm essentially squishing a live bomb into a smaller package. Sure, the pin hasn't been pulled, but then again this is one charged with prana we're talking about. Stability isn't something you typically associate with such concoctions.

"Praetor?"

"Yes, Madame?"

"Forgive me for doubting your 'imagination'."

"Nope."

"W-w-what?" Nero's emerald eyes swell up.

"Not gonna forgive you. You doubted my skills. That's a class A felony, goldilocks."

"How was I to know you could have done that this entire time?"

"Don't make assumptions. I could conjure up a unicorn made out of sheet metal if I wished. Did I ever tell you I could do that?"

There's a trace of awe in her eyes. I can't fathom as to why. I was kind of just tossing a random example out there that would confuse any sane individual. Ah. Key word there. 'Sane' Nero is not. 'Special' is a better description. "I would very much wish to see that in the future. But Praetor, as impressive as that is (it really isn't) it is not nearly as convenient as this is. Why did you not do this earlier?"

As an answer I toss the grenade to her. She catches it with practiced ease.

"I do not understand."

"Notice any difference?"

She turns the paper-thin explosive around, trying to discern what's different about it besides its sudden flatness.

"Allow me to elaborate." With a snap (I really just added that for dramatic flair) the grenade reforms into its former shape. "The weight. Notice anything?"

She frowns at it, continuing to rotate the object around in her hands. "I notice no … difference."

"Exactly. Being a Heroic Spirit means weight isn't a factor in your stratagem. A single fragmentation grenade doesn't weigh that much, but what if I was to try and carry dozens?"

"With them being the same weight, you would most certainly fatigue."

"That is why typically I wouldn't even bother packaging my tools." I shrug, gesturing for her to toss the grenade back to me. She does so, and it's odd to think that we just had a single round of hot potato. The frag goes back up my sleeve, disappearing from sight once again. "And that's not even to mention the extra drain on prana it costs. I have to use Alteration to reconfigure the inherent components of the object and Reinforcement to ensure it doesn't get damaged. Transmutation is sometimes necessary when Alteration doesn't cover it."

Alteration in itself is the most important part of this 'formula'. It allows me to change the base principals of an object. Something that was meant to be 'sturdy' can be shifted so it's instead considered 'flexible'. It goes without saying that this is easier to do with inanimate objects than living things. It's also much easier to do this with wood than it is with metal. If I were to try this with something that didn't fit my Element I'd probably burn my circuits out completely. Which is why it's almost completely worthless except for novelty. The only reason I'm even using it now is because the War seems to be in full effect, despite all seven Servants not yet being summoned. And I can't just sling a shotgun over my back and expect to not get stopped by police. This is Japan and not Texas (sadly).

Here's how the idea works in practice. Objects that are of a simple design (such as an M67 grenade) or things that are inherently meant to be compact and concealable work best. It's also best to keep things within the realm of reason. Folding something that's too big into a package that's too small would end in disaster. Say if I were to try and crush something like a minivan into the size of a soda can, it would be almost impossible to keep it properly functioning. Failure would potentially lead to me accidentally doing something like splitting an atom.

Haven't tested that yet (I'm not that stupid) but I really hope that's not possible. I don't need a mini-Manhattan Project going off in the palm of my hand. Japan already suffered two nukes, it doesn't need an accidental third thanks to a retard trying to fit a fridge into a thumbtack because he wants to have snacks on the go.

"Is there no way to cut corners?" It's almost as if she's reading my thoughts . . . or I just rambled aloud again. Shit.

"What? You think I'm fucking FedEx? I make sure my packages are in tiptop shape no matter what the costs."

She mulls over that for a second, probably trying to think of any alternatives that could solve our problems. Hell, she's not a complete idiot. Maybe she'll actually think of something smart that could help me . . . .

"Praetor? Could we not use this to cart around my magnificence?"

"Eh?" I don't know what she means by her 'magnificence' but I'm not liking where this train of thought's going.

"These." She points to one of the many . . . many busts situated around her mansion.

Correction, **my** mansion. It's definitely my mansion.

"You . . . want me to use . . . no, waste my prana on making it convenient for you to lug around goddamn statues? Statues of yourself?"

"Yes, I imagine they would do wonders for building our public relations in this area. We could hand them out as presents to strangers on our path. Granting them the pleasure of being able to gaze upon my beauty as much as their hearts desire."

"Hold that thought, I think I have the 1897 in one of these pockets. Let me see if I can pull it out. Maybe use it to blast some sense into that thick head of yours."

"Praetor, winning the hearts and minds of a populace is important."

Is she seriously using the same reasoning George W. Bush used in the Second Gulf War? The exact reasoning that was previously used by Johnson during Nam?

Boy, I wonder how well the idea worked for them.

Apparently, the utterly flabbergasted look on my face clarifies for her exactly how I view her logic. My expression is mainly conveying my belief that she's speaking utter shit and that we have no need whatsoever to wage a propaganda battle on Fuyuki.

Though now that I think about it, Nero could pull of the Tokyo Rose style pretty well . . . . No! That's a terrible idea and serves no practical purpose whatsoever. I doubt any of the other Servants would be demoralized enough by trash talk to the point that they'd surrender.

"Umu . . . ." And that's why she breaks this crap out.

"Sweet James Gandolfini, please do not start that nonsense up again. I don't care if you digivolved into your final form or not. If I hear that ridiculous onomatopoeia one more time my head will explode like the grenade up my sleeve."

"Umu . . . ." She goes full pout mode. Cranking whatever dial in her head that limits the levels of poutiness she can project all the way up to eleven.

"Is this going to be a thing now? This is totally going to be a thing. Please don't make this a thing."

She doesn't relent. We go back and forth like this for another thirty seconds. It's a perpetual state of limbo for the two of us. Her pouting and whining and me bitching and moaning. It's a winning combination all around.

Eventually, I break. What can I do? Challenge her 'umu' until the end of time? That doesn't sound productive in the slightest.

"Ok. Fine. I'll call the boys. Have them do it. We'll call it Operation Visual Pollution. Happy?" Still, I can at least sigh. Funny, I feel like this is relationship of ours is not so much a partnership as it is the daily life of an overwhelmed parent that has to capitulate to the spoiled demands of their child.

Only that neither of us have a set role in it, and we're constantly swapping off who gets to be the whiny brat.

Is this what you'd call a normal relationship?

Did I also mention that her pseudo-pouting abates instantly? Boy, I sure am surprised by that.

"That would be satisfactory, Praetor."

I'm sure it would be. Yes indeed, I am sure it would be.

"Speaking of the boys let me give them a quick follow up before we head out. Have to let them know they should babysit this place after all."

"I will wait outside. Please do not keep me waiting for too long, Praetor."

"Sure, wouldn't want to waste the 'Queen's' time, would I?"

"Emperor, Praetor. Emperor."

"Whatever floats your boat, Your Highness." With that she departs. Showing herself out by walking straight out the front door. Good, this means I don't have to worry about her overhearing the contents of the call. I'm hoping it'll be a 'normal' one, but you can never be too sure when talking to Kaz. He might let something slip. Something not safe for work.

 _Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring._

"Oi, what the hell are you doing calling me so soon? The boys said you wouldn't stop by for a while?"

"I just missed you so much I couldn't help but call you early, Kaz."

"Listen, I'm in the bathroom. I was trying to take a shi–!" **This.** **This** is exactly what I was afraid of having to listen to.

"Ever hear the phrase 'too much information'?"

"I figured your micromanaging ass would enjoy hearing it. You're gone for years without a peep and already you start calling me up willy nilly every other day."

"I can see you're still upset about that."

And this is where I apparently open up an entire can of worms.

"Of course I am! I'd have no problem with this if you'd called me every other day normally, but now it's just annoying because I know you'll eventually drop off the grid and leave me out to dry. 'It's just ole Kaz' you'll say to yourself. 'Only need to call him when I want something, not to check up on if he's ok or not'. Did you know I got married while you were incognito, or whatever the hell it was you were doing? I wanted to have you be my best man. But nooooo. Instead I had to get Yagami. Yagami. His speech involved, and this is in no particular order, a shit ton of maniacal laughter, a profanity-laced tirade against that old movie company Netflix, and some vague rambling about potato chips. Motherfucking potato chips. It scared my brother-in-law so much he squealed like a desert rain frog. Have you ever heard a desert rain frog squeal? It's adorable, but makes you feel bad all the same. A man should not feel pity for his future brother-in-law during his wedding. He shouldn't feel pity for anyone but himself as he realizes the best years of his life are behind him!"

Wow. For a second I'm speechless. Clearly, Kaz's married life hasn't been the best. Poor guy. But hey, if it ends in divorce he can at least become a professional oyster diver. Why do I suggest that? Simple. This fucker can sure hold his breath for a long time. That rant lasted forty-six seconds. Hell, I'm impressed he managed to say all of that so quickly. Maybe he should be an auctioneer instead of a diver?

"Hoo boy. Remember to breathe, please. You're going to asphyxiate yourself if you keep this up."

"Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest real quick. What's up?"

And just like that the conversation's gone back to somewhat relaxed. Such is the tone in which most interaction with Kaz follows.

"I technically kidnapped a small boy. Think you can send a group of guys out here to watch him when I'm out?"

"Oh sure, not a problem. But I gotta ask; I'm not going to end up like Joe Paterno because of this, am I?" I almost have to admire his nonchalant attitude to such a request.

"Ha. No. It's not like that. He tried to kill me with my own gun."

"Oh. Why'd you let him get near your gun in the first place? Isn't that like, the one thing you should keep an eye on if you don't keep an eye on anything else?"

"I let him have it to make him look like a moron."

"Wait … doesn't that make you look like a moron? Giving him your gun and all that?"

"Just … have someone watch over him. He's in the closet–"

"Christ, you are digging yourself a hole here."

"Not like that, he's in the actual bedroom closet upstairs. And can you also have a few of the guys distribute busts of Saber around the town?"

"What."

"To make her more popular."

"Ok, but why though? Wait, 'Saber' is the chick you're hanging around now, right?"

"Yeah. She wants people to like her."

"So, let me get this straight. You disappear for years. Abandon me. And find yourself some hot foreign chick for a girlfriend?"

"You're making inaccurate assumptions here."

"You want me to waste manpower on making her approval ratings in the neighborhood increase. What are you planning? An election campaign?"

"You know, that's not a half bad idea." I muse aloud, only half-jokingly.

"Don't get any ideas. Besides, it'd be more efficient to become the de facto dictator of the city. All we'd have to do is have a coup and then hold out against the JSDF. Not impossible with the shit you can whip up."

"Too much risk, too little reward. Let's get back to Operation Visual Pollution."

". . . You . . . gave it a title?"

"Yeah."

"So, what's the 'operation' name of the babysitting gig?"

"Operation Don't Let Him Fuck Up My New Mansion."

"Bit wordy, don't you think?"

"Whatever, just do this for me and I'll see you in a bit."

"Does that mean between two and four years?"

"Pesci, what on earth is wrong with you? It was one time."

"It doesn't matter if it only happened once. Three years is a long time in someone's life! Also, why the hell is her name Saber? Shouldn't you be the 'saber'?"

Sweet Pesci, Kaz. What is wrong with you?

"Kaz?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to hang up now."

"Wait, I want you to rethink the bootleg toys idea first. I'm telling you it's genius!"

With that I hang up, completely disregarding the poor guy's sales pitch.

A few seconds later and Nero and I are making our way into town. She'd casually asked how the conversation went, and naturally I told her it went swimmingly. Operation Visual Pollution was a go, and the kid wouldn't be left to starve to death. So, I'd be appeasing both her and Child Protective Services. Hooray.

"So, remember, we need to find a doc first."

The forest surrounding the mansion is exquisite. Reminds me of something out of a cheesy Christmas movie. It's like a slice of Germany's Black Forest in Japan. Gorgeous. Just like their ham.

Now if only it didn't take so goddamn long to get through it.

Did I mention how long this was going to take? No? Well … it's a four-hour walk.

FOUR HOURS.

Safe to say I'm going to have plenty of time to chat with Nero.

Originally, she'd offered to carry me out of here. It would have been considerably faster than what we're doing now. All I had to do was sacrifice what little dignity I had left. Of course, I wasn't going to do that. I'm not that desperate. Yet.

"For your ear, yes, I understand this, Praetor." She doesn't even turn to face me when she answers, continuing to strut through the forest undergrowth as she leads me along like a lost child.

It's almost impressive how she's walking through this environment in high heels. She continues marching forth despite my assumptions that she'd trip.

"After that, let's focus on tracking down the others. I'd suggest starting with Lancer."

"Of course! We must trample that man's pride. He made a mockery of me in our last fight, and I cannot let this go unpunished!"

I sigh at her . . . enthusiasm. "Then again there's always Archer. He seemed kind of weak in comparison to the others we've met."

She frowns at me, "Praetor, did he not help us? Surely we could overlook him in favor of other opponents?"

"Don't call me Shirley. But yeah, I get what you're saying. But to be fair, he kind of tried to kill us after saving us."

"Well, did he not suffer enough afterwards?" A memory drifted through my mind. One of the Servant of the Bow, hefted about in the hulking paw of our friendly neighborhood monster. His expression, oh Pesci, his expression. I'm laughing just thinking about it.

"Praetor, I admit I am confused. What about my question was funny to you?"

I wave aside her follow up. "Heh, nothing. Just made me think of something amusing."

She doesn't respond to this, likely accepting my humorous mood for what it is and not wanting to know the finer details of my quirky mind. So, we walk in silence, continuing to make our way through the forest surrounding **MY** new property.

Yes. It is most definitely **my** property. Though . . . Nero did buy it. (With my money.) So maybe it can be partially hers.

That way she can pay the goddamn home insurance and property taxes when the time comes. And she can pay it **not** with my money.

"Mmm . . . ."

"Something on your mind?"

Nero's stroking her chin, like some mad genius on the verge of solving a complex algorithm. Considering how she's no Einstein, I'm a little concerned. She might burn out her brain.

"Praetor? It appears there's someone directly in front of us."

"Oh?" It's all I can say. Is that's what caused her to clam up? The potential of an assailant waiting for us directly outside of our designated safe space? Psshh. Getting ambushed is like the norm for me apparently. It's just another fucking Tuesday.

Gotta look on the bright side of things too. If they've walked this far into the forest they've been walking for eons. I probably won't have to do anything, they're likely already comatose from exhaustion.

Four hours.

FOUR HOURS.

"Sweet." And with that all anxiety within her is gone. That single word uttered in the most blasé tone imaginable. There's no need to worry. We've survived everything from Goliath to Longinus. Overwhelming strength meant nothing. Big pointy sticks meant nothing. Arrows meant nothing.

I'm not afraid. Nero has no need to be afraid. We were cockroaches. Unable of dying as long as we stood by each other.

That's what I've taken away from the past few days. Sounds stupid? Well, why don't you go ahead and survive three attempted murders and a near drowning experience in less than a week and see how you'll cope?

Am I invincible?

Most definitely not.

Am I fucking bulletproof?

Since the day I was born.

Now if only the enemy actually used bullets . . . .

But you should look on the bright side of things. We couldn't exactly beat the other Servants we've encountered so far, but they couldn't exactly beat us either. So if it's one of the three we've pissed off already, we'll be in stellar shape.

If it's not? Well, I don't think it's possible for there to be someone worse than Stickman and the Hulkster.

So, I squeeze Nero's shoulder, comforting her as we walk towards whatever's to come.

"Is it a Servant?"

She shakes her head 'no'. Wait . . . . What? It's not even a Servant and she's gone pale?! What the heck are we dealing with? A Dead Apostle?!

"Something about them seems . . . wrong, Praetor."

"Like what?"

She inhales a deep breath of air, preparing herself for the revelation to last a lifetime. "I can smell it from here! The perfume they have chosen to wear is of terrible quality!"

. . . Pardon my French s'il vous plait, but . . . are you fucking kidding me?

"Come again?"

"Yes! Praetor, can you not smell it? Perhaps it is due to my heightened senses as a Servant that I can smell it while you cannot?" She shrugs. "No matter, you shall know what I mean once we get closer."

"N-Saber?" I almost slip up and say her true name aloud. Good thing I caught myself. We're too close to a potential enemy to risk it.

"Yes, Praetor?"

"Just . . . never change."

She smiles at me, "Why would I change, Praetor? I like myself as I am now." Now she starts chuckling. "As do you, or else you would not have stayed by my side. And you did, did you not?"

So why should Nero or I fear the unknown?

The unknown should fear us.

Or continued survival is enough testimony towards this being fact.

With a sober mind and an unburdened heart, I march forth. Preparing myself for the worst but hoping for the best.

They're not a Servant, so I should be able to deal with them.

Oh, if only I knew. If only I knew.

I push aside the last branch blocking our path, and its then that I finally see who our nosey neighbor is.

Blonde hair, styled in twin-tails.

A tight red top with the symbol of the cross plastered across the chest.

Ebony boots that stretch almost entirely up her thighs.

A mini skirt. One so 'mini' that it might as well be nonexistent.

And eyes so blue they look to be mirror images of the cloudless sky above us.

This girl … she's trying to look innocent. I can tell by how she's glancing about like she's lost. Her eyes light up when she notices me. Thankfully, Nero agreed with the unspoken command to go into spirit form.

"You wouldn't happen to be the owner of this property, would you?" Her tone is bubbly and carefree. She speaks as if she's asking something completely inconsequential, as if that's the proper way to introduce oneself to a stranger.

Most would fall for the cheerful façade she's trying to pull off. They wouldn't think to look her over for weaponry. They wouldn't notice the handle of a knife peeking out beneath her skirt, or the strap this linked to that indicated she had more underneath that far too short article of clothing. They wouldn't see the edge to her composure, the barely visible tensing of her shoulders.

Most would fall for her pretty looks, locking their gaze with her own and losing sight of the bigger picture.

I'm not most.

I'm carrying several firearms on my person.

I'm a contender in a battle royal.

I cannot **not** notice these things. Because the last time I wasn't paying attention it almost cost us our lives.

This girl isn't a Servant. But she could be a Master. And if she is? She best hope she has a good reason for me not to kill her.

Because if she doesn't?

Well, the MAC-11 in my front pocket has a rate of fire of around a thousand rounds a minute. I don't need to explain what thirty-two rounds of .380 can do to someone hit from less than ten feet away.

The term 'Swiss cheese' comes to mind.

'Modern art' is what I'd call it.

"I suppose I am, considering I paid for it." There. Her hand inches ever so slightly closer to that knife peeking out from her skirt. In response, my hand moves closer to my hip, hovering directly above the Pico concealed by my jacket.

She blinks. As if surprised by my answer. "You're … Dante Di Prinzi?"

"The one and only." Why does she know who I am? Why does she know my name?

She sighs, the sound letting it be known to all present that she's exasperated. What the hell is with this girl? She trespasses onto my property just to ask if I'm me? Who the hell is she to ask me who I am? "Any particular reason for these questions?"

"Huh?" I appear to have been momentarily forgotten because she acts as if I've brought her back from her thoughts. "Who are you again?"

Ok that's it. I'm starting to get a little pissed off here. "Just the dude who owns the land you're trespassing on. Who the hell are you again?"

"Jeez, what's with that tone? I just wanted to make sure. You're weirder looking that I thought you'd be."

"The fuck?" I'm two seconds away from just shooting her. It doesn't help at all that Nero chooses that moment to pipe in.

 _She does have a point, Praetor. You do stand out._

This is coming from the girl that shows off her panties and has an 'ass window' in her dress.

 _Do not misunderstand. I for one take great pride in your appearance. In fact, the only thing I would suggest is changing the color pattern. Maroon would be much more fitting for you than white. Purity is not something that comes to mind when I think of you._

I'm not commenting on that. Mainly because she has a point and I don't wish to indulge her. She'll start thinking she's right more often than not, and feeding her ego is not something I think is of necessity right now.

Or . . . ever, really.

"You were supposed to be more . . . normal looking. Not plain or anything, but certainly not like someone from a cheesy crime drama. What's with that ridiculously oversized jacket? It's not even that cold out here?"

There's a limit to how much I can take from someone. It's a very strict limit. Dis the jacket? I dis you back.

"How fitting (unlike your skirt), the girl wearing a miniskirt that might as well be nonexistent is criticizing me for overdressing. With that outfit, you'd be cold in the rainforests of Brazil."

Her cheeks turn an ever so slight shade of red in response, and a guttural croaking sound starts emanating from her. Inadvertently I assume. I can't believe in good faith that any sane human on this planet would intentionally make such a sound. And she calls me the weird one.

Of course I have to press her buttons further. I want to see if I can make this damn pig squeal. Insult my jacket, will you? Prepare for the worst.

"I mean, what do you do when you have to bend over to pick something up? Are you some sort of sick pervert that gets off on flashing your panties? Or are you just so incompetent that you can't properly dress yourself?"

Something inside of her snaps. I can tell because suddenly she bows her head as if she's going to pray. But unlike the serenity you'd expect to see on the face of someone invoking God, there's nothing but malice present here. I can't even see the emotion in her eyes because of how she's concealing them with her bangs. I'm thankful that's being done, that curtain of hair is the one thing protecting me from having to face Lucifer's hatred up close.

Why do I refer to her as such?

Well because it takes her roughly 0.2 seconds to launch herself upon me. All while screaming like a banshee.

Now either she's a tomcat drunken on ecstasy and catnip or she's Satan himself come to finally claim my damned soul.

Personally, I'd prefer her being Satan. At least then she wouldn't have claws. Sadly, that's not the case. She has very long fingernails. So long that I can only scream one thing while she's trying to tear out my eyes.

"Bitch, why don't you cut your nails once in a blue moon?!" Yes, for all my talk about being able to turn her into an inefficient water pitcher with bullets I was unable to so much as move a muscle when she came down on me. Should I be held accountable for this? Am I to be considered inadequate in my response time?

No, this is not something you can blame me for. No man would be capable of properly acting if they were in my shoes. She's scarier than Kiara and only slightly behind Taiga in terms of ability to instill fear. That's an accomplishment in my opinion.

Though, it's to be expected that I don't exactly take this insane rampage lying down. While I'm initially shocked in the start of our impromptu brawl, I act quickly upon getting my bearings.

A reinforced punch is thrown, aimed straight at her solar plexus in an attempt at making her double over.

And upon throwing it I realize I've made a critical error. I didn't know she was proficient in the art of wrestling.

Just like that she takes me down to Suplex City.

In an instant, I'm on my stomach in the dirt with an unpleasant amount of weight pinning me down. It doesn't help matters that I'm still wearing that metal sheet of makeshift body armor underneath my jacket. Something that was intended to save my life is now digging uncomfortably into my abdomen. My arm is twisted in an awkward, unnatural angle behind my back, and my face is three inches away from a fire ant hill. For that I can only say 'fuck China' for bringing those demonic arthropods to the Land of the Rising Sun.

Oh, and fuck this girl that's sitting on top of my back and keeping my head into the dirt.

Fuck Nero too while we're at it. Why? Because she's chuckling to herself instead of doing anything. I guess I can partially be happy about this. If she weren't laughing I'd know for certain I was in danger. At least this means that the insane bitch that's trying to blind me with ants isn't trying to intentionally kill me. She might be unintentionally trying though.

"Anything you'd like to say?"

"Y-y-eah. What're your hourly rates?"

Ok now I'm TWO inches away from the ant colony. I can see one of the little buggers marching over towards my nose. Great, I feel like Dwayne Johnson in that shitty spin-off no one wanted.

"Not what I wanted to hear."

Is everyone in this city insane? First that Matou kid thinking he could kill me with my own gun and now this? I don't even know this girl and she thinks she can get away with wrestling me to the ground like we're in some godforsaken WWE cage match? She is definitely not John Cena, I can see her, and I am not going to get my ass handed to me by some crazy chick that walked four-hours to tackle me.

"Get the hell off of me."

"Or what? I don't appreciate being insulted by a guy that looks like he can't even dress himself."

"Are you seriously just repackaging my own insults and hurling them back at me? I'm going to sue your ass if you don't get it off of my back."

"You have an attorney? I'd sooner believe you work a steady nine to five shift."

"You have a point, but I have something better than a lawyer. There's a grenade in my left sleeve. That one you're currently pinning against my shoulder. Get off, or I detonate it."

"Impossible, you can't do that without pulling the pin."

"Why do you assume I have to use my hand to pull the pin?"

With that, she abruptly releases me, removing herself from me as gracefully as possible (given our situation) and standing up. I take note of how she purposefully makes sure to tower above me, hesitating for a good three seconds before even attempting to offer a hand in assistance.

I refuse. Taking the time to squish the ant that had scurried atop the tip of my nose, before less than gracefully lifting myself from the dirt.

My jacket is now soiled. The nice dress shirt I had on has a few buttons undone. My slacks are covered in grime. Basically, I've just had my entire look trashed in the blink of an eye. All before I even got a chance to show it off around town.

"Alright, this is where we both apologize to one another."

She crosses her arms, smirking at me as she does so. "I'm sorry you're so awful at defending yourself."

What can I do except grin like a maniac at that? "I'm sorry your piss poor relationship with your father made you such an insufferable bitch."

And that looks like it hit a nerve. Judging from the clenched fists and shaking shoulders.

"You want to go a second round?"

"As long as I get a millisecond to pull out a gun. I'm game."

Two milliseconds later and my head is shoved into a nearby tree trunk. How did she manage this? A liberal application of Reinforcement, with just a smidgen of adrenaline giving her the strength to push on despite being shot.

Did I mention I managed to draw the Pico?

Well I did. Didn't manage to fire more than maybe two rounds though. The first grazed her cheek. The second missed completely on account of her grabbing my wrists and throwing off my aim.

She also reinforced her legs, along with her arms. So she ended up being just a smidgen slower than a Servant.

Looks like I'm dealing with a pro. A pro that so happens to enjoy beating up strangers in front of their homes.

I carefully remove myself from the tree. The girl's use of prana tells me she's a Mage. Which again sets off those alarm bells saying she's probably a Master. The lack of killing intent though, tells me she's at least not trying to end me outright. If she were I'd probably just massacre her with the MAC. Some Alteration coaxes the tree to open up around my head, freeing me from the trunk entirely.

"Alright, I might have deserved that. Clearly you actually have some daddy issues." She goes so far as to crack her knuckles in response. How . . . childish. And that's saying something considering it's coming from me. "So let's go back to the apologizing thing."

"Fair enough, you first."

I can't help but blink at her in amazement. "You started this, so you go first."

"No, you're the idiot that insulted me."

"You made fun of the jacket! I'll have you know this was given to me by someone really important so I do not appreciate having some nut job trash on it!"

"You implied I was a prostitute!"

"I still think you are! Your clothes even show off a part of your backside!" It's true. She has an 'ass window' just like Nero does. I'm starting to think fashion's gone a very terrible route in the past few years. I mean, if what's trendy is copying Emperor Nero's style of all people's we're in a really shitty time period.

"What does that make you? You look like the kid sitting in the back of class that stares out the window all day! I'm convinced you're the reincarnation of one of the Columbine shooters!"

"Hey, don't you compare me to those jackoffs! My jacket's much cooler looking than theirs!"

She starts laughing for some reason. Pretty strange to say the least considering we've been yelling at each other. I can't really think of why she'd find that funny.

"Jeez, you really are Di Prinzi, aren't you?"

"How the hell do you know who I am?"

She shrugs. "The local nun."

Oh. Oooohhh. "What, is she trying to restart that cult of hers? Are you a new member or something?"

Again, she laughs, this time trying to muffle the sound by covering her mouth with the palm of her hand. "No. Nothing of the sort. I just went to her to see if she knew anything."

"About what?"

The laughter subsides, replaced with a scathing glare. "The people who broke into the Tohsaka residence downtown."

That?! That is what she's come here for?! Wait. Why did Kiara tell her I did that?! This is that little brat's fault!

"You . . . seriously came here because I went into an abandoned house?"

She shakes her head in the negative. "No, I came here because you vandalized that house."

Oh. I kind of did that, didn't I? Well, shit. "So what? Is it your house?"

"Technically it is. I've inherited ownership of it after all."

"Well then you've been terrible at maintaining it."

"I just arrived in Fuyuki City recently. I was intending on renovating it." Her eyes narrow dangerously, like a viper eyeing a juicy rat that it intended to strike. "Unfortunately, someone else beat me to it. Destroying a large portion of the upper bedroom's floor."

That was a bedroom? Someone actually slept in that spooky ritual room?

"What do you want? A formal apology?"

"No. I want you to pay for the repairs."

Say what?

"I really hope that you're joking."

She's smirking at me, goddammit she's smirking again! "No. Unless you want me to involve the local authorities I'd suggest you cough up some change."

She's extorting me? Blackmailing me? Threatening police intervention to me?

"Bwahahahaha!" I laugh. Oh boy, I laugh. I laugh the hardest I've laughed in a very long time. "Y-y-y-ou!" I have to take a deep breath to be able to even speak. "You actually think I care? I could kill you without blinking and bury your corpse in these woods. Trust me, no one's going to walk four-hours to look for you."

She doesn't so much as flinch at my death threat, not at all amused it seems. "'Trust me'," she mocks me in a faux masculine tone "they would."

"You know, if you had just shown up like a normal person and just asked I probably would have indulged you."

"Which means?"

"Instead of just trespassing, you've also assaulted me, and threatened me."

"You've done those last two as well, might I remind you."

"Yes, yes, but that's irrelevant." I sigh, upset at how ridiculous this entire encounter has been. "Now I'm not going to give you a single cent. In fact, I'm thinking about finishing off what that kid started."

"Kid?"

"Yeah. That's the best part, I'm not the main reason your crappy haunted house got trashed. This little kid broke into it first and I was only there to stop him."

She goes silent at the revelation, likely pondering the implications this would hold.

"In fact, I have him bound and gagged in my upstairs closet."

There are some moments in which you realize 'I've done fucked up'. This, this was one of those moments.

I watch as her expression itself becomes diagnosed with bipolar disorder. In just a few seconds she goes from shocked, to disgusted, to outraged, and then back to shocked. Then she starts to go through what appears to be the Kübler-Ross model, also known as the five stages of grief. It ends with her 'acceptance' being "You're joking, right?"

At this point I realize I made a terrible mistake and so I make the best chose possible in this situation. I lie. "Of course." And like all good lies she buys it because she'd rather believe a lie than the truth.

"Thank God."

No, thank me for lying to you. And thank you for believing that.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I kind of have somewhere to be and you're taking up a lot my precious time." This line would have been a lot more impactful had I actually been wearing a wristwatch. I try to glance at my wrist as if I'm checking the time, only to stare blankly at my naked forearm. "I . . . should go. I can't say it was nice knowing you."

"What about my house?"

"What about it? You should've had insurance like I did."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. I am most definitely not. Please leave me alone."

"Not until you fix what damage you've caused."

"I didn't do jack shit, ok? Go try and bully the little kid into paying you back."

"I thought you were joking about him?"

"I was joking about him being in my closet, but he does actually exist. It shouldn't be too hard to find either. Little degenerate dyed his hair some stupid blue color."

"Well where are you going?"

"To find a doctor."

"Wow, I actually hurt you that much?"

I snort in amusement. "As if, I did some damage to my ear and I need a doc to make sure it's ok."

"Which doctor?"

That . . . causes me to draw a blank. Damn, if only I could have Kiara heal me up. Sadly, that'd be pushing our 'relationship' too far. Not only can I not put that much trust in her, there's not even a need to. Why bother owing her an even bigger debt when I can just go to someone else to have the job done? I should have asked Kaz for directions when I had a chance. It would have saved me all this trouble.

"Uh . . . the bald one with a mustache?"

"Doctor Phil?"

"Sure?" I answer, not being quick witted enough to catch the reference she's made.

She starts laughing again, covering her mouth with her hand and snickering away at my benefit. "You're either lying, or you don't even know any doctors around town."

"I don't know any that use Magecraft, ok? Happy?"

"Jeez, and to think I was going to give you the privilege of taking me on a tour."

What? Am I dealing with Nero-lite over here? Is she actually bipolar?

"I'm going to pass."

"Then how are you going to find a doctor?"

Well she's got me there. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let a random chick that assaulted me and made frivolous demands lead the way.

 _Praetor._

 _Great. Now of all times is when you choose to comment. Couldn't you have done something back there?_

 _I was under the impression that you wanted me to stay in spirit form to avoid drawing attention._

Shit. She has a good point. I can't argue with that.

 _Ugh. Fine, what's up now?_

 _What is up? The sky of course, Praetor. As well as birds, and those metal contraptions your era would call a 'plane'._

 _It's a figure of speech. What can I do for ya?_

 _Well, I think it would be best to allow this girl to show us the way._

 _Ok, but why?_

 _If she is a Master, we can keep a closer eye on her and monitor her actions. If she is not we can simply take advantage of her knowledge to find someone who can repair your hearing._

 _How can you have such amazing logic but somehow still do stupid things?_

 _I have no idea what you mean by that, Praetor._

 _Forget it; I'll trust you on this one though._

I can feel the smile of gratitude over our mental connection.

 _You should really do that more often, Praetor. I trust you, after all._

 _Like I said, trust comes in stages. But if it means anything, you're one of the select few I'd trust my life with._

That mental smile widens ever further, and I can tell I've made her happy.

"Alright, fine. I'll let you lead me to a doctor."

Immediately twin-tails furiously shakes her head 'no'. "'Let you lead me'? Let's get this straight, I'm offering to help you. Even after all you've said. You should be grateful I'm so merciful."

I grumble a little, but swallow my pride nonetheless. "Alright, thanks for the assist. That good enough?"

"No way. Now I want an apology."

"Gotcha. Sorry I made fun of your style. The formfitting red top really accentuates those AA sized puppies you've got there." It's to be expected that I point at her chest without a shred of shame in me.

She reacts in an expected matter, blushing while hugging her chest tightly between her arms. I'm unsure as to what this is supposed to accomplish. Does she think I have x-ray vision and that her arms are going to stop me from seeing her bare flesh? Or is this just some instinctual self-defense mechanism to prevent me from sexually harassing her?

"Idiot! They're not that small!"

"Oh?" I can't help but press further. She's dug her own grave with this own. "Then may I ask what cup size you're rockin'? I meant what I said about that outfit complimenting your figure, I just tend to have a dull eye when it comes to guessing women's measurements."

That . . . throws her for a loop. I watch as her brain shifts gears to process the insane request I've made, all while sniggering internally. Externally I'm of course the perfect picture of stoicism, completely serious with my question and not at all trying to pull her leg.

"W-w-what?! What kind of moron asks a lady something like that?!"

Funny. Her, a lady? She's crazy if she thinks she can pass for one. One does not refer to a female pit bull as a 'lady'.

"I'm curious is all. I have an estimate in mind, but as I said I'm terrible at guessing. You're bust size is between eighty and eighty-three centimeters, correct?"

"H-h-how?!"

"Waist is rather weak. Only around fifty-five centimeters. Perhaps even closer to sixty if I'm being generous. Oh, and I'm happy to say you're going to give a healthy birthing in your future. Those hips aren't anything to write home about but eighty centimeters is perfect for–!"

I'm cut off when she grabs the collar of my shirt and starts shaking me furiously. Ah how kind of her, she's trying to wring out the dust and grime she'd gotten on my clothes with that WrestleMania stunt of hers. Maybe I was wrong about her? This obnoxious nagger might have a hidden heart of gold.

"I don't know how you have those numbers, and I don't really care! You're a sick pervert!"

I smile earnestly in response to her uproar. "Does this mean you've accepted my apology?"

Cue her trying to lynch me using my own jacket.

Five minutes later and we've come to a truce of sorts.

What does that truth entail? Well, I had to apologize to her and promise to try my best at fixing the broken floor in her new house. Notice how I got lucky enough to slip in that 'try my best' addendum? The apology went something like this, "I'm sorry for complimenting you and insulting you all at once. I know it probably confused your tiny little brain–!" Then it was immediately silence by her shouting me down.

At least I got away with not having to give a sincere apology.

She didn't offer one of her own, by the way. Or at least, she tried as little as I did in offering one. "That jacket doesn't look too bad, I guess. You'll need to clean it or else it'll stain."

It wasn't much, but it paved the road to us not trying to instantly curb stomp each other.

After that was out of the way she decided to change her initial proposal of me just coughing up extortion money for her to shut up about my destruction of her property. Instead she indirectly complimented me on my Alteration skills and suggested that if I fixed the damage I caused she wouldn't need any money.

I agreed, primarily because I managed to slip in that loophole, and because it was easier to just agree to whatever she demanded and ignore her later than it was to negotiate better terms for myself.

Really, I didn't even need to do anything with her. It was simply more convenient this way. She was clearly a Master (being a magus, contacting Kiara, etc.) so there was definitely some sort of ambush being set up. But, Saber had a point. It was a good idea to keep her close while we could. That old saying about keeping your enemies closer rings true even to this day.

I'm confused as to what her motive is in all of this. Besides the ambush angle of course. Maybe she's going to try and propose an alliance because her Servant's really weak and she learned I had the Saber class? Maybe she came here originally to assault my home but changed her mind when we ran into each other in the woods. This entire set of shenanigans I've had to put up with could be just her elaborate attempt at bullshitting her way into success.

Either that or there's some maniacal ruse set in place here and I'm walking right into her trap. If that's the case I'll just kill her. Nero can kill her Servant. And then we can laugh about how stupid twin-tails was in trying to double-cross us.

In summary, this is not how I expected my four-hour stroll through the woods to go.

"To be honest, I didn't just come here because of the Tohsaka building. There were a few other things I wanted to talk to you about."

Ah, here we go. This is the part where the villain reveals their entire secret plan to the hero. Textbook shit-tier antagonist.

"I figured. No one's crazy enough to risk entering potentially enemy territory just for that."

"Considering how you don't even have any bounded fields or defensive runes set in place I'd say an enemy would be crazier not to take advantage of your lack of preparations."

Ouch, that kind of stings. "Give me a break, I only just moved in."

"Don't you think it was a bad idea to go through a move right before the War?"

There she goes, letting it slip that she knows about the Grail War. Definitely a Master.

"Forget it, I'm getting sidetracked. I came here primarily to stop you from causing any more trouble."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, because that nun's apparently terrible at her job. I've seen what you've been up to and I have to say I'm not impressed."

I chuckle a little. "I'm so very sad to hear that. I was truly trying to impress you." The sarcasm is heavily apparent. Except to Nero.

 _Praetor, there is no need to try and impress her. You should be trying to impress me, after all._

That doesn't deserve a reply.

"Tsk. Did you know that almost everything you've done has been recorded? There are CCTV cameras everywhere in this city."

"Yeah, I know. Kiara's job is to wipe them."

"Then she's terrible at her job. I had to do it for her."

Now that, that is a terrifying thought.

"That's included in her list of tasks as the overseer. She's supposed to cover up any evidence."

"I don't think she knew about the cameras. Either that or she didn't know how to wipe them. From what I can tell she got that job through pure nepotism."

Well, looks like I'm going to have to sack Rome. "They had to give her some sort of training."

"I don't think they even gave her on the job training. She's not exactly technologically literate."

"Hey, that's not her fault." I can't help but defend her. The Church itself is one of the more innovative organizations as far as their willingness to evolve through mundane means. I've heard of them using robotic augmentation to improve the qualities of their members. But Kiara isn't exactly a full-fledged member herself. She's not even Catholic. She lacks the resources of the Church itself and apparently only has a position in their ranks because one of the higher members took a fancy to her.

Shit, I hope nothing actually came of that 'fancy'. I'll really have to sack Rome if that's the case.

This is a girl that spent the majority of her life ostracized from humanity as a whole. She didn't even know what a television was until I showed one to her. To blame her for not knowing about the 'Big Brother' elements of Fuyuki would be unfair.

Hell, I forgot about them myself after living here for so long and subconsciously just assumed someone else would take care of it. Damn, I've apparently relied a lot of Kiara handling things from the shadows to the point that I've forgotten her own limitations.

What else have I overlooked? I need to step up my game. Should have had Kaz double check everything. His strong suit isn't in tech, it's in managing the social network of our organization, but he'd definitely have been able to find someone that could do it for him.

Only problem being I don't want to rely on him too much. It'd be burdensome to him.

No point in crying over spilled milk though. I'll just have to proceed from here.

"No, it's pretty much her fault. She's just a fake nun."

Hmm? A 'fake nun'? It's true in a way, I suppose.

"I suppose I should thank you then. Sincerely, that is."

"Huh?" She stops in her tracks, caught off guard by the more serious tone in my words.

"I appreciate your help in this, Miss . . . ?"

She smiles good-naturedly at me, though I can't really tell if it's genuine or not. "Boy, what's with the sudden shift in mood? I'm trying to tell you how stupid you've been and now you're choosing to take things seriously?" A sigh escapes her lips, and all of a sudden I'm getting a front row seat to her attempt at impersonating my trademarked facepalm.

Yes, I say trademarked, I've used that gesture enough in the past few days that my forehead feels cold when I'm not.

"My name is Rin. Rin Emiya."

* * *

 **AN: Ladies and gentlemen this has been quite certainly a long time in the making. There's a few reasons for this, the main one being I've found myself to be terrible at writing Rin (any Rin, really) and seriously lacking when it comes to having more than two characters speaking at once. So you might notice Nero's unnaturally quiet during this chapter and that Rin might be a little OOC. Though I trust it becomes more apparent why that's the case once you get to my godawful cliffhanger lol. I never went into much detail on this in the original story (GEGE) but I have some big plans for this Rin. A few answers as to who she could be. We learn in Extra that she's not the Rin Tohsaka in Stay Night but rather a relative. I've taken that and rolled with it. Also, as I mentioned in the disclaimer, I plan on another chapter being out in the very near future. Partially as an apology for my tardiness and partially as an apology for this godawful cliffhanger (I'm terrible at ending chapters properly XD). Be sure to look forward to that!**

 **Now, onto the reviews!**

 **LilMate: 'U' . . . Wot M8? ;D**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: Sorry but this will most likely not happen. Can't completely follow the tired ecchi cliches after all! There won't be anything 'unintentional' about it XD. Dante takes responsibility for his actions!**

 **xanothos: Tis a Phantasm greater than Ea itself. An anti-Reality one that destroys any ill will the target could hold. None can fight the Power of Cuteness. Not even the mighty King of Heroes!**

 **Tomster627: Damn straight! I don't even think Angra Maiyu himself could deny Nero's moe.**

 **Anthem of the Night: I don't want to spoil too much BUT the timeline here is way, way different than Stay Night. So unfortunately Rin won't be able to comment on any similarities between Arturia and Nero ): Though I can safely Sporus (castrated boy) and some of the darker aspects of Nero's past that Nasu didn't directly comment on are going to be brought up. Most of it was explained as being propaganda devised against Nero after her death . . . but I'm going to go ahead and say "Maybe some of it had a grain of truth" and run with that story. I'm happy about the emotional roller coaster you rode while reading the previous chapter. It's what I was totally going for when whipping it up. Updating conveniently during Nerofest was just an added bonus!**

 **Darebear the bear: It's great to hear I've been doing ok with their relationship. I've been trying to balance it out so as not to make it progress too slowly or too quickly. Now, as for the potential of Kiara having a Servant, I have some ideas as to how that would go. If Nero's daughter (whichever one used) is summoned as a Ruler well . . . we'd need a similar setup as the Apocrypha war, no? Imagine if Dante succeeded in creating a sort of faction through alliances with other Masters. The Harweys are entering this already with a faction of their own so it would be fair in that respect. What it might do is bog down the Grail War to the point that the Grail decided to summon a Ruler to break the truce. Kiara could take advantage of this and all of a sudden we have a situation that can go numerous ways. Nero being used as a summoning catalyst does sound promising too (though I'd prefer her being able to interact with her daughter). This Strike Cannon weapon does indeed have some potential. I was toying with the idea of Dante using Magecraft to create fantasy weapons from other universes (hence the reference to the Mini-nuke launcher) but I'm not sure it'd be well received. I was also thinking about him replicating Black Barrel or perhaps Barrel Replica (which the Church itself replicated from Black Barrel) though again that might give him too much power. That one-shot idea could be pretty neat too, though I'd have to see if more people want larger stories involving Dante as a Master/Servant in a particular setting or if they'd prefer seeing how he'd react to almost every Servant that exists. Have a great day yourself (even though I'm like two and a half months late XD) and thanks for the review!**

 **King Keith: 'Arturia got nothing on Nero' them's fighting words, mister! Too be honest I was actually leaning towards him being an outsider like Jeanne in F/A, siding heavily with him being summoned as an Avenger through a glitch in the Grail. Though he can just as easily replace either Archer or Assassin of Black (him and either of those Masters would be an interesting duo). Archer of Red is another possibility (though I kind of want him to screw with Atalanta) but I'd say it's impossible for him to be Assassin of Red or a Caster on either side because of how the plot goes. Him being summoned by Ryuunosuke as a Caster though . . . yeah boi. Vlad in F/A would confuse the hell out of him after his interactions with Vlad from Extra lol and I can imagine he'd empty his bank account to try and get Nero only to be furious when Nero Bride and Swimsuit Nero show up with their 1% drop rates XD.**

 **SilvestormXD: Glad you liked it!**

 **King0fP0wers: Yup, Dante is essentially a more benevolent less dickish Senator Armstrong in how he originally planned to do things. Except he incorrectly thought he could end war through causing it to proliferate throughout the world. Essentially burning out humanity's desire to continue to fight out of fear of the consequences. "If no one is weak than no one is oppressed." is pretty much his beginning worldview. In using the old metaphor involving sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs Dante believed that there weren't enough sheepdogs (police, soldiers, heroes) around to protect the sheep (innocent) from the wolves (criminals, tyrants, etc.) so he declared "I'm going to give all these sheep assault rifles then there won't be any wolves!" There's also some similarity between Twice H. Pieceman's ideals and Dante's I'd like to think. Both are extremely flawed in their own ways. As for his Origin, it would indeed allow him to be a great musician, artist, etc. if he chose that path. He would have probably had the best chance out of anyone at discovering the origin of humanity. If he hadn't gone the whole "I'm going to give away free AKs" route I'd imagine he would have been a really influential guy in the Clock Tower. Sadly his personality just clashes too much with that lifestyle. He'd probably be important for a year or two before getting assassinated after insulting some Lord to his face XD. PS: I'm totally stealing Diarmuid-Guest and Apocrypha-Guest from now on XD and I love that there's actually a discussion going on between everyone about this. It's awesome! I've also planned out the 'end' to a potential Dante and Diarmuid team (I tend to think of how things would end and work from there). Ironically it would end right where Lancer dies in canon Zero except it'd be overall better for everyone involved.**

 **TheTrueOverlordBear: Can I just say I'm blown away by the level of praise you've given me? Seriously. It's amazing. I really hope I don't disappoint you in a future update down the line lol. I can't say if making it to Nasuverse levels of complexity is a good thing or not though, considering the Nasuverse is so ridiculously convoluted it would take days of research to fully understand it (Nasu has a really admirable imagination). If I ever get that determined I'm probably going to be way out of my league :P. But I definitely appreciate the kind words. It's awesome that you placed Dante in the same category as GArcher. I originally designed Dante as a joke character meant to be in a crackish fic and I never expected people to actually like reading about him. You'll notice though that while he hasn't gone quite the "f**k the community" route he's still way less altruistic than Shirou. Really his goal now is almost exactly the same as Kiritsugu's when he entered the Great Fire. "I want to save someone. I want to do one good thing in my life." Except Kiritsugu went through his entire life knowingly committing evil whereas Dante unintentionally did starting out. His dream is to save Fuyuki but it's in the same vein his dream to make everyone in the world their own hero is. Dante's so cynical he's willing to settle on that dream. He'd willingly sacrifice himself and let Fuyuki burn without his help if it meant saving Nero or someone that's shown him decency. Not quite the "protecting just family and friends" idea but almost to that because of how pessimistic he is in viewing his abilities. It's almost sadder. Instead of going full GArcher and giving up he's half-assed his goals to the point where "just don't let the world get any worse" is his best case scenario. I completely get what you mean by fanservice too. I dislike that so much I've made a point of Dante calling it out when he sees it (you'll see that this chapter). I don't want to go into everything here (it'd be easily an extra thousand words of filler lol) but feel free to PM me if you have any other questions, comments, or concerns. Or just go ahead and leave a review, that works too. Have a good day too :D!**

 **Apocrypha-Guest: I already have a base idea on how this would go. It might tie in some elements of Fate/Strange Fake, the biggest being the American mage organization. Dante could be sent to represent their interests (maybe as a member, maybe as an expendable asset) and also potentially copy the schematics of the Grail so it could be replicated properly in America (leading to Strange Fake). The Association wouldn't know the extent this goes and he'd enter on the Red side using contacts the Americans have in the Clocktower as references. His unwillingness to trust Shirou would lead to him avoiding the fate the Master of Atalanta faced in canon. In complete honesty Karna would infuriate him. Dante's big on the 'being your own man' idea and to see someone so willing to listen to their Master without any complaint would disgust him. Something similar would happen if he were to ever encounter Shirou Emiya, though he'd give Shirou a pass because he's a kid. Karna as a legendary hero would get no such pass. Achilles would annoy him partially but I think the guy's straightforwardness would almost be endearing in some way to Dante. He'd be pissed every time Achilles wasted his breath on 'seducing' Atalanta but that'd be more of a 'this guy's a complete buffoon' and not 'this guy's a piece of crap'. Still not exactly positive, but not completely negative either. Shakespeare might see him as the protagonist, but I'm pretty sure Sieg hold that title so it might not work. I think his relationship with Atalanta would start really bad at first but soften considerable following some sort of scene where Dante gets frustrated with her to the point that he asks what her dream even is. She'd say something like "A man like you wouldn't understand." We'd get a stereotypical "Try me." And he'd respond to her dream of creating a world where every child could be raised with love by quietly saying "that's a damn fine wish" which would baffle the hell out of her.**

 **Guest 1: Is it wrong that my first thoughts on the opening were "My God this woman sounds like she's run a marathon" the music's great (as are the visuals) but she's singing so fast she has to take these big gulps of air in between XD.**

 **Diarmuid-Guest? (What's been done cannot be undone lol): Could you imagine if Kayneth dared to try and storm the Einzbern mansion like he did in Zero without a Servant? Kiritsugu would be waiting for Dante to show up (as Lancer's Master) only to see this mentally unhinged babbling moron that's screaming "Where is he?! That mutt that stole from me?!" Meanwhile Dante's helping Diarmuid and Arturia fight Gilles because he's so disgusted at the idea of using children that way. And imagine how the dock fight would go if Kayneth just interrupted with the monologue he did in canon? Except it'd be entirely directed at Dante and everyone would be like "Is this dude even a Master?" Kayneth would essentially be the Shinji of Schizoid Man in Zero. Except Dante wouldn't throw him a bone and would probably just ignore him completely. Dante would probably even let Diarmuid have his final showdown with Arturia without interfering. Kiritsugu on the other hand . . . not so much.**

 **PS: Thanks for all the reviews guys! I'm fairly certain this was the most reviews I've gotten in a single chapter and it's really badass of you all to spend time commenting on this. I appreciate it!**


	13. The Sound of Silence

**Disclaimer: This chapter starts exactly where the last one left off. Yes, right after the name revelation.**

* * *

 **Chapter 13- The Sound of Silence**

What's with that goofy ass grin she has plastered across her face? For some reason she's even closed her eyes. I can't help but think she knows something I don't. Whatever that may be, it looks like she's taking great pleasure in my ignorance. Her copying my facepalm is almost preferential compared to this. This is worse than her smug little smirks even. She's acting as if she's my senior or something. As if she's my . . . my . . . **senpai** (remembering the term almost makes me puke in my mouth) and I'm just some innocent naïve little junior that has to have everything explained to them.

Is there some sort of significance in her name? Something I should recall related to it?

Beats me.

It doesn't even fit her, to be completely honest. She has both her arms still and I doubt she's the artistic type. Autistic maybe.

"Odd name."

"That's really insulting coming from the guy named 'Dante Di Prinzi'."

"No, I was just expecting something more . . . Western? You're a hāfu, correct?"

"What gave it away, the hair?"

"Partially. The eye color and your facial structure confirmed it for certain." Even an untrained eye would be able of noticing her foreignness in comparison to a native Japanese citizen. My eyes are those of a craftsman's. Noticing details is my forte. At least when I'm looking for them.

"Does it matter?"

"Not really," I shrug to myself, "I'm just a gaijin after all."

A moment of silence passed between us, an awkward moment that did nothing to alleviate the tension growing.

"I was merely making an observation. No need to think deeply about it."

Rin shakes her head, like a dog trying to brush flies away from its ears. "Back on topic, you've been screwing up a lot. So much that I wouldn't be surprised if the Association decided to get involved."

My objection is best represented with a haughty scoff. "As if. They don't care enough anymore. I'd have to essentially reveal the Grail itself for them to get off their asses."

"I wouldn't push them; it won't end well for you."

"It won't end well for them either. What's your point?"

She sighs, clearly she's frustrated with the way this conversation's going. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"That's why you tracked me down? To warn me?"

"No. To threaten you."

She turns, hands on hips, a heated glare adorning her gaze. "Stop drawing so much attention. You're a danger to everyone in the city and if you don't stop people are going to get hurt."

. . . I'm at a loss for words. What can I say to that? She's voicing my exact fears. The fear that I'll fail once again and repeat the mistakes of my past while trying to redeem myself. The fear that I'll end up getting someone killed without intending it.

I have no problem with people dying in this. It'd be a shame and I'd rather avoid it, but I'm not omnipotent. I can't save everyone, and truth be told I only want to save those that are important enough to warrant saving. I'm not going to abandon someone if I can do something about it, but I'm not going to drop everything to save someone's cat that's stuck up a tree.

Good Samaritans are great and all, but they don't become legends.

You have to save someone worthwhile to become a legend.

Seriously, imagine if the policeman that was supposed to guard Lincoln's booth had actually been at his post and stopped John Wilkes Booth. He would have gone down in history!

Then again, Oliver Sipple saved a president and he didn't have a happy ending. And I'm fairly certain no one knows who Jerry Sparr is . . . .

Regardless, at least they have their own Wikipedia pages. Can't say the same for the random paramedic that saves someone suffering cardiac arrest.

Sadly, that's just how the world works. The hero business is the easiest way to balance your karma and die as a good guy, but the only way you're even going to be recognized is if you save someone really important or save a ton of less important people. Assassinating someone really evil is another possibility, but I doubt there's going to be a new Hitler around town anytime soon.

Thus, I have two goals. I must protect Nero and I must protect this city.

Saving Nero would be worth it. She's been good to me, despite all we've been through. And more importantly I owe her. A lot.

Sacrificing myself for her to continue on would be a good deal for the both of us.

And . . . she'd remember me. There's no doubt about that.

She's technically immortal because she's a Heroic Spirit, right? So, in a way my memory will live on forever. The memory that I was a good enough guy to sacrifice myself for someone else. It'd be ok then if this world remembered me as an immoral war profiteer. They wouldn't for long. Eventually the last generation with any remote connection to me would die and I'm not quite infamous to go down in history based on my misdeeds. I'd be forgotten by the world. I'd be a nobody, but if Nero remembered me I'd at least remain as a memory.

And a good memory at that.

The only other option is to work my way through this entire War. I'd rather that be the case. I want to at least be responsible for some good in the world I lived in. But we can't all get our way. If sacrificing myself for Nero is an option, I'll take it. It'd be better than letting her die only to later die myself.

Would I do that for a random stranger? Would I take a bullet for a bystander?

No.

But would I want a stranger to die because of what I've done?

Pesci, no.

I would be back at square one if that happened, repeating my errors of the past.

Nothing would have changed. I'd just add another tally mark to my body count.

"For the sake of everyone, you need to shape up. That nun may not have been wiping the camera footage but she's been working overtime to keep the locals from going after you. From what I can tell you haven't been popular in Fuyuki to begin with."

Yeah, she has a point. After all, Nero did say my neighbors cheered when she set my house on fire. Shit, shouldn't have brought that up. I'm having Vietnam flashbacks just thinking about how much money she cost me.

"You came here to scold me like a child?"

"Pretty much. Since I own the Second Owner's house now I have to live up to her shoes."

"'She'? The Tohsaka's haven't been around in years. Last I heard they're all dead."

"That can't be true." There is way, way too much emotion in her words when she says that. She sounds like I just told her I'd strangled her puppy.

"Woah, calm down lady. If they're alive you'll have to give the house back."

"The deed's in my name."

"How'd that work?"

"The city repositioned it and auctioned it off to the highest bidder online. I was that highest bidder."

"Damn, I would have bought it if I'd known they were going to do that."

Now that seems to interest her, judging from the twinkle in her eye. "Oh? Do you have an appreciation for history as well?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have bought it because of that. I'd turn it into a haunted house. Make a fortune selling tickets to gullible kids every Halloween."

She sighs at this. "I really shouldn't be surprised to hear you say something so ridiculous."

That's another thing. It's been bugging me this entire conversation we've had. We've gone from being complete strangers, to trying to kill each other, to talking as if we're old chums. Something tells me that's not likely to happen even when two personality's mesh well. And ours most definitely do not. "I suppose I should be the one surprised then. I didn't think you could know someone after interacting with them for less than an hour."

She just shrugs, "Maybe it's because when you look at someone through a computer screen for hours on end you begin to feel they're familiar to you." She then smirks, folding her hands together above her head and stretching as she continues walking forward. "Or . . . maybe it's just because you're a really simplistic person and anyone with two brain cells could understand you?"

Hours on end . . . ? Why would you need to watch me that long? Combining all the fights Nero and I have had in the past few days would only give you a run time of maybe half an hour. Three-quarters of an hour if you included that brief car chase. In two sentences she's just admitted she's been essentially stalking me while also somehow managing to insult me along the way. How pleasant. She's like a smug, creepier version of Santa Claus, watching over all the bad boys and girls. Except instead of handing out coal she hands out suplexes.

Least she's not Krampus I guess.

"Maybe that's the case. Or maybe, we're just soul mates and you instinctively are able of understanding my plight just from meeting me?"

 _Praetor!_

 _Why the hell are you taking this seriously? I'm obviously trying to get her into your harem._

 _Oh. Uh . . . but of course! I would expect nothing less from my Praetor after all. I wish you good luck, she will be a mighty beast to tame._

That tone wasn't convincing in the least. She sounded legitimately jealous there for a second. I'm going to ignore it for now, because she's clearly lost the plot. It's obvious why I'm chatting up this Rin chick. To screw with her. Rile her up and get her to spill the beans. I don't honestly believe she came to me just to tell me I needed to fix her house and warn me about endangering civilians. Nothing in my life can ever be that simple. People that concerned for the plight of strangers don't exist. There's no way she'd potentially risk me shooting her on sight just to coerce me into caring more about civilian casualties.

But, I'm not stupid. There's no need for calling her out on her bullshit right off the bat. I'll give her a few hours of my time, allow her to lead me to a doctor that can heal me, and then try to interrogate her for intel.

I also should inquire as to why Nero called her a 'beast'. Then again, I don't **have** to per se, so I should probably just let that slide. I don't want to talk about any 'taming' with the person that castrated a slave boy to make 'him' a woman.

Now that is something I should bring up when I get the chance. Poor Sporus. 'That mere white curd of ass's milk' might have been history's first instance of a trap.

"What are you on about? As if. I'd never be the 'soul mate' of a plebian such as yourself."

My attempts at rousing her were not very successful. Maybe I should just go back to calling her a whore? No . . . I don't want a first-person perspective on life in the ring a second time, thank you very much.

"That's rather unfortunate." I let that statement hang, not wishing to elaborate in the off chance that it might give her a means of wiggling her way into normal conversation. It makes the atmosphere around us purposefully awkward, causing Rin to lapse into silence when she has no idea how to continue. It's only fair that I do this. She was responsible the last time this conversation got awkward.

After a good minute and a half of her embarrassingly coughing into her fist and me walking as slow as possible behind her (of course I have to give off that 1980s serial killer vibe for intimidation purposes) I jump back into the conversation as if nothing strange had even been said to begin with.

"I believe you said there were a 'few other things' you wanted to talk to me about? So far, we've only talked about me endangering civilians. Anything else you'd like to add?"

She shakes her head, but I can tell it's not done so to answer my question. The furious nature of which she does it leads me to believe that she's trying to clear her head before addressing the change in topic. "Yeah, I have a few things to talk about. But why don't we deal with that after everything else is taken care of?"

"Meaning?"

She sighs, her shoulders slumping in the act. "Meaning after you're healed and my house is fixed."

"Speaking of me being healed, who is this doctor we're going to anyway?"

"She's not really a doctor . . . more of a nurse."

Oh? That's just wonderful. I ask for a doctor and she brings me to a nurse. Granted any amateur knowledgeable in novice healing Magecraft can pull this off, but it's the thought that counts, y'know?

"I asked for a doctor. That was the deal, was it not?"

"Your injury doesn't seem to be that drastic, judging from how you described it and your lackadaisical treatment of it. Anyone remotely proficient with healing spells could probably fix it. To be honest, I'm not sure why you haven't fixed it yourself already."

"I'd rather have a professional look at it. Healing magic isn't my forte, and the inner ear is a complex thing. It'd be pointless to waste prana on attempting to heal something, only to make it worse."

She starts snickering. "So . . . what you're saying is . . . you don't even know the basics of Thaumaturgy?"

I can't help but frown. She's seen right through me. "No, that's not at all what I was saying. But if that's how you determine someone's proficiency in Magecraft then, by all means, why don't you heal my ear?"

She just starts laughing louder. "Ok, first, we both know you're trying to change the topic. Second, name one reason why I would waste prana on fixing your problems? What would I get out of it?"

"Well, you'd certainly save us both time spent on walking."

"What if I want to walk? I'll have you know I enjoy calisthenics and one of my favorite hobbies is hiking. It gets the blood flowing, and, judging from your mental ineptness, that's something you need dearly."

"You're arguing that wasting my time is for my own good?"

She stops in place, spinning around to face me head on. "It's not wasting time, it's called exercise! What, do you think sports are a waste of time too?"

I'm not all impressed by her haughty attitude, nor am I impressed with the index finger she has wagging in front of my face. This girl definitely has some things in common with Nero. It's like she took all of her bad qualities without keeping any of the good.

 _I will have you know, Praetor, that I do not have a single bad quality within me._

 _You say this while displaying one of your worst qualities._

 _That being?_

 _Your arrogance._

 _Just another word for self-confidence and pride in oneself._

 _Using that logic, gluttony could be considered just an enthusiastic enjoyment of food._

 _Is it not?_

 _I'm starting to see why you were considered to be the Antichrist._

 _Umu . . . don't bring that up, Praetor._

"It depends on what you'd consider a sport." I mean, it goes without saying that I'm not going to enjoy any sport that requires a team to play it. A while back Kaz tried to organize a game of baseball with me and a bunch of guys he rounded up. At the time he was big into that sort of thing. Wanted to become pro. Well . . . it didn't work out. I may or may not have 'accidentally' tossed a beanball when his team started clobbering us. It may or may not have 'unintentionally' hit Kaz in the nose. He may or may not have needed facial reconstructive 'surgery' to make himself look presentable after that. Hey, at least I paid for it. And we didn't even have to deal with an English Mastiff either. It could have been worse.

I was banned henceforth from all their games. Not just baseball either. They tried a Super Smash Bros. tournament once. I was banned from that. Kaz was afraid I might find a way to cause bodily harm with a plastic video game controller. What a wimp.

"Fine, name a few things you like that you'd consider sports." Does heckling count? It takes practice and commitment to pull that off and I do enjoy doing it.

"Plinking, hunting maybe?"

Rin starts nibbling away at her lower lip. A nervous tick, perhaps? Or is this just another way of antagonizing me? It's quite annoying actually, like watching someone pick their nose. You just want to slap them to get them to stop. "I'm not sure what that first one is, but I'm fairly certain hunting isn't considered a sport. But I can't complain too much, at least in doing it you're getting in shape."

"Not really. My dad would just drive his pickup truck as far into the woods as he could. Then we'd shoot at passing deer from the bed of it using FLIR scopes."

She blinks twice at me, seemingly dumbfounded for some reason. "Your . . . dad?"

"Yeah. My dad. How are you surprised I have a dad?"

"I'm not surprised about that! It's just . . . wait." She holds her entire hand up into my face now, practically forcing me to 'talk to the hand'. It's the universal gesture for 'shut up'. This can't be good. "Damn."

"What's . . . ?"

"Look out!" Rin cuts me off midsentence, tackling me to the ground before I can even fathom what's going on.

There's a loud _boom_ that goes off and all of a sudden I feel pinpricks of discomfort on my exposed flesh. Dirt and debris rains down upon me. Clumps of soil and pieces of wood from the surrounding trees. It's like a mortar round just detonated fifteen feet away.

"Praetor!" Nero's taken physical form, materializing within reaching distance from me with her sword drawn.

"Are you alright?" I'm vaguely aware of a warm feeling pressed against my chest. Upon closer inspection I seem to have been tackled to the ground, the culprit of this assault being the twin-tailed girl sitting atop of my abdomen.

She's kneeling upon me as if I'm some sort of prayer rug, not at all discomforted by the fact that she's crushing my goddamned ribs by applying her weight on top of my body armor. And I thought it was bad enough when she was sitting on my back. Also, what is that goddamn awful smell? Is that her . . . perfume? Pesci, now I know why Nero mentioned this before! I should have brought that gas mask with me because I feel like I've just been exposed to some makeshift nerve agent. My eyes are watering like I've just (spoiler sixty plus years in the making inbound) watched Old Yeller get shot!

"Can you get the hell off of me? Pretty please?"

"I don't know . . . you make a nice pillow. I might have to sit here for– waaah!" I shove her off unceremoniously, getting some minor satisfaction from the 'oof' sound she makes when she lands beside me. "What was that for?!"

Ignoring her, I begin looking around to clarify what the hell just happened. There's a large crater in the ground, around ten feet away. It looks like a missile crash landed there. Vaguely I'm reminded of the aftermath of my RPG shot, albeit this is slightly less chaotic and concentrated in one focal point.

That focal point being the exact center of all this destruction. There's a spear embedded within the concrete. I use the term 'spear' loosely. In reality it looks more like a massive carving fork, just with one prong being shorter than the other. There's also what looks to be a cord running down it's shaft. So maybe it's just some odd sharpened variation of an electric tuning fork? If electric tuning forks exist, that is. The thing has a liberal application of bling on it to boot. There are jewels engraved into the weapon, I'm guessing amethysts, but they could be rubies for all I know, and the metal itself seems to be silver with how it's shining in the sun. Though that's probably just an optical illusion, a quick pat down of the object would tell me exactly what it's made from but I doubt I'll have the luxury to examine it closer.

Why is that you may ask? Simple. It vanishes, breaking apart into a cloud of barely visible dust before leaving this plane of existence completely. For all of two seconds.

"Huh? I'm kind of surprised I missed you, Pig."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to make sense of all of this. I'm dealing with a Servant. One who wields a glorified barbecue fork. One that's calling me a 'Pig'. One that's probably going to try and cut a slice of ham out of my ass. Unless . . . .

"You know, it's pretty rude to call Rin a 'pig'. She doesn't smell **that** bad. I can't vouch for her table manners though."

"I just saved your life and you're insulting me? In front of the person that tried to kill you?" Incredulous is more than just an eleven-letter word. It is the perfect description of Rin's facial expression. I can't think of a better word to match the sheer stupefied state she's stuck in.

Poor girl is looking at me as if I stabbed her in the back. I did nothing of the such. In fact, she should be pleased that I tried to defend her prematurely. If Nero's first reaction to her was the scent of perfume she wore, no doubt this Servant would notice the same.

I'm merely serving as Rin's personal public relations representative, preemptively striking while the iron's hot and protecting her from any incoming criticism related to that godawful perfume she's doused herself in. I'm just being a good frenemy and helping her avoid future embarrassment.

Totally not trying to place her as the center of attention and distance myself from that 'pig' label. That would be completely ungentlemanly of me. And what am I if not a superb example of gentlemanliness?

"Actually, I was talking about you, Pig."

The Servant points at me, extending a talon straight in my direction. Did I mention she has talons? Or are they claws? Is there even a difference? Regardless, the oddity of a Heroic Spirit singles me out. I mention she's an oddity because her appearance is something that would stand out in any crowd. And not in the way Nero would. I wish her clothes were the only strange thing about her.

This . . . 'girl' (and I use the term lightly) has situated herself on the highest branch of a nearby tree. Like some great harpy perched, waiting for the mice below her to try and run before she's willing to give chase.

Her appearance is a mixture of 'dragon' and 'Lolita maid'. She's wearing this strange gothic like dress. There are frills at the elbows, wrists, and the skirt itself. It's colored a weird combination of pink, white, and black. Her shoes are odder. High heels. With big ass pink spikes at the toes sticking straight up. That's a safety hazard, especially considering she's balancing herself on top a tree branch.

As for her 'dragon' attributes? Simple. The chick has a pair of horns on her head and a forked tail sticking out from under her skirt. She's either going for 'dragon' or 'succubus' and her complete lack of 'assets' makes me think it's the former and not the later. Can't really pull off 'lust inducing demoness' when you're still in a training bra. Oh, and she's also got pointy ears. Pointy ears. Like a fucking elf. And not the Will Ferrell kind. Maybe she's not really a Servant? She could just be your garden-variety loon. One that just so happened to have recently burglarized a costume shop.

In summary, she looks like an abomination conceived in the mind of some rich marketing executive in an effort to appeal to adolescent boys. Hence the piercing greyish-blue eyes and the anime like reddish-pink hair. Aforementioned executive was likely also a big fan of 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' because I can't think of any explanation for the reptilian aspects of her.

Besides her being a half-assed furry.

Then again, perhaps I'm just being overly critical of the Nero rivaling degeneracy before me because she's tried to kill me, apparently also nicknaming me after swine in the process.

That might have a tad effect on my overall reaction to her.

And let's not even bring up the part about her stupid ambush attack causing me to owe Rin for saving my life. I . . . don't want to remember that.

With her outward appearance out of the way, let's get down to the nitty gritty of things. Her class. I'm in a bit of a pickle as to what it could be. My first guess would be Lancer, on account of the 'spear' in her hands. The same spear she lobbed at me. The same spear that's caused me to owe Rin a solid. But of course this would contradict the unanimous conclusion Nero and I made regarding the other Lancer we encountered. The old dude dressed in plate armor.

Could she be Assassin? It would match with the cheap shot she tried to pull off. But again, her outfit doesn't seem like something fit for someone trying to be stealthy.

Maybe she's just a really strange Caster? It would fit her overall theme of being an oddball.

"Hey!" I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder. Almost as if someone slapped me. "Are you trying to get us killed?!" Ah, that's Rin, abusing my ears even more with her shrill nagging.

"Praetor, I am ready to act upon your command." And that's Saber. She's sounding a bit overtly serious. It doesn't fit her usual personality. I wonder why she's doing–? Wait. What's that irritating sound? It sounds vaguely like someone grinding their teeth together. I wonder what that could–?

"Y-y-y-ooouuu!"

"Praetor, get behind me!" And just like that I find Nero directly in front of me, wasting no time in blocking the blow that was clearly aimed for my head. The only good part about almost being decapitated is that Rin had to clumsily dolphin dive out of the way to avoid being hit herself. She landed in a ditch nearby, using it as an ineffective trench in the process.

"Filthy Pig! Filthy uncultured swine! What do you know about fashion?! What do you know about beauty?! Nothing! You're just a dirty Pig!" Ah. I think I understand what's happening. I seem to have voiced most, if not all, of my thoughts aloud. Either that, or this dragon chick can read minds.

That's a scary thought.

"I am an idol! How dare you simplify me with such a description?!"

She's shrieking at me. It's borderline sad. How can someone be so offended by the opinion of a stranger? It's not like I'm a fashion designer or anything. For all I know her ridiculous dress is the current trend.

"Pesci, I hope not. There's not much covering that washboard of hers. It's slightly disturbing to think others could find such a look presentable."

That for sure is something I said aloud. I intended it to be such. "Rin, start retreating back to the mansion." I mumble this to the girl that's gone prone a few feet away.

My eyes are locked on the reddening face of the enemy Servant before me. I can't tell if this reaction was brought about by her anger or her embarrassment. Both, maybe? Truly it doesn't matter. Rin needs to back off though and get to safety.

I can't have her dying on me when she could potentially be useful. Whether or not she's worth it is debatable, but I at least need her to find a healer.

Not necessarily true, but I'd rather avoid calling Kaz again.

"Saber. Establish a perimeter between us and Rin."

"Gladly, Praetor." She ignites her sword, already understanding where I'm going with this.

Rin's less receptive to my idea. "Wait! You can't fight her right here!"

She's wrong. There are no civilians. No chance of unwanted casualties. Rin herself is the weakest link. If she leaves, there's no chance of someone getting hurt that I don't intend to have hurt.

"Rin, listen to me right now. Head to the mansion and await our return. You'll just get in the way."

Nero releases the flames she's capable of harnessing, directing them in a circular fashion around us. It creates a makeshift boundary, trapping us with the enemy and keeping Rin away.

It's not as good as a Bounded Field, but for now it'll serve it's intended purpose.

I turn towards the twin-tailed girl, one hand already reaching for my Pico. "We'll meet up once this is taken care of. Fifteen minutes at the max."

She grits her teeth, visibly presenting her frustration with my choice. "Wouldn't it be better to just retreat? Isn't this too close to your house?"

Now this is a bit perplexing. I would have never taken this Emiya girl for a coward. In fact, the choice to have Nero create a border between us was based mostly on the assumption that Rin would insist on backing us up.

Maybe I've misjudged her. I took her for the impulsive, hotheaded sort. Seems that might not be entirely the case.

"We've been ambushed on home ground. Where am I supposed to retreat to?" She's an idiot to suggest such a thing. If we fall back to the mansion we risk the chance of collateral damage. Scratch that. It's a guarantee there will be collateral damage with how much of a mess this enemy Servant's made already.

I'm going to have to repurpose that big ass crater into something useful. A hot spring bath could work, but it'd be kind of awkward considering it's on the main path out of these woods. I could also use it as a makeshift foxhole. Though, again, it'd be a blemish on the landscape considering this is the main path.

". . . We . . . we could push through! Make a break for the tree line and lose her in the city."

"Denied." Both Nero and I answer with the same response and it's pleasantly surprising that we're on the same wavelength.

"Rin, we still have a ways to go before we're out of this forest. She'd catch up to us easily."

"Remember also Praetor, the mansion is just up the road behind us. It would be left defenseless if we flee." Nero's got a good point. I can't have some barbaric savage ransacking my crib while I'm away. Buying it (among other things) temporarily bankrupted me for a while there. And I haven't even called the insurance company yet to get it covered!

"You're his Servant, right? Shouldn't you care more about your Master's wellbeing than a house's?"

It just dawns on me that by Nero reverting to her physical form we've exposed more than I was willing to. I . . . suppose it's not too bad though. It's not like she'd be able of discerning Nero's true name just by looking at her, and if she's been spying on us already through traffic cams she's probably already seen her.

Still, it's annoying that I wasn't able to control this entire encounter better. I'm beginning to disdain surprises. Based off of how many times I've been jumped already, it seems everyone else in this War loves them.

"I am appalled you would even suggest that. Of course I care for my Praetor more than anything else. He is irreplaceable after all."

Why in the hell do you have to get all mushy now? Is there a need for that?

"Are you so sure about that? From what I've seen you were going on a shopping spree after he overexerted himself in your first battle. That doesn't sound like you care that much."

So she's seen all of that but didn't know that the Matou kid broke into her house before I did?

Nero is understandably pissed by this comment, and I can tell she's about to go off on her. I just have to butt in or else this'll get out of hand. There's no time to waste on such bickering. If the enemy Servant before us wasn't still screaming vague threats and childish obscenities we'd probably not even be able of having this conversation.

"Rin, you still haven't addressed my first point. How do you expect us to push past her and run the three-plus hours it'd require to get out of this forest without her catching back up to us?"

And there goes her entire argument out the window. It's a stupid idea to begin with. Retreating when an enemy Servant's attacked you on home territory? Ridiculous. Why would you give up when you have a home-field advantage? What's worse was the idea to push past the enemy and into the city. Didn't she just tell me I should be more careful with civvies? Essentially using them as cover to get the enemy to back off would be taking a big risk. That's even indulging the idea that we'd somehow be able to run for three hours without this Servant catching up to us.

Rin understands this. She's not completely stupid. Which is why I'm wondering why she'd even propose such an illogical plan of action to begin with. She blinks, knowing full well that I've just made a really fair point and finding herself unable of arguing against it. I can just see the cogs in her brain turning as she tries to think of a counterpoint. When she can't she just sighs.

"You said 'fifteen minutes', right?"

Nero's grinning like a pompous prick now. She looks greatly pleased about Rin not being able to think of a good comeback. Mentally the so-called Heroic Spirit is trying to give me a high five. Mentally I'm giving her the cold shoulder.

"Yeah. Fifteen minutes."

Rin again bites her lip. (Pesci, that is probably the most irritating thing I've ever seen.) "Alright. But if you take even a second longer I'll be back!" With that she turns on her heel and runs away. With her tail between her legs might I add.

"Well, she certainly seemed to be in a hurry all of a sudden."

"Praetor, I no longer wish for that woman to be in my harem."

"Are we really going to bring that up right now?"

"Have you all been ignoring me?!" Oh? Looks like that pink-haired weirdo realized we weren't listening to a word she was saying. How should I respond to this?

"Saber, why didn't you sense her?" By continuing to ignore her of course.

She caught wind of Rin's presence. Though that was more because of the perfume than any magical indicator. Still, Servants were supposed to be able to sense each other, were they not?

"You are referring to that . . . creature in the tree, correct? It's possible she waited for us in her spirit form."

"'Creature'? I'm an idol!" Aforementioned 'creature in the tree' seems to be offended.

"Good point. I was thinking more along the lines of her being Assassin."

Nero just raises an eyebrow. "In that outfit, Praetor?"

"Hey! What's wrong with my outfit!" We might be legitimately pissing her off. Wow, and I thought that breathtakingly hate-filled rant (that we ignored) had been just for show.

"Praetor, should I answer that, or would you rather?"

"I don't think you have any room to talk when it comes to tacky clothes."

The enemy starts freaking out. I'm not kidding, she starts tearing out her own hair in front of us. Seems we've broken her. Pity.

"Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong! You're both so wrong!"

Now she's gone back to shrieking like a banshee. Except this time, she's an octave higher so it's physically impossible to ignore her. Seriously, her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. I might need to have both my ears checked up on when this is finished with.

"You were supposed to squeal like the Pig you are!" Here she madly gesticulates in my direction. "And you were supposed to bow before me, recognizing just how much I outclass you! Recognizing just how inadequate of a rival you actually are!" Now she's pointing fingers at Nero who seems to take great insult at the idea that this 'creature in the tree' could see her as a rival. "You're both so very, very wrong! And it's giving me a headache!"

Oh great, we're totally dealing with a sane human being right now. She's fucking beating her fists against her skull. What the hell is this? Self-flagellation? Should we just let her beat herself to death?

"Praetor?"

"Yes Saber?"

"I believe our foe is not quite right in the head."

You don't say?! Gee thanks, Captain Obvious. What gave it away? The malicious cackling she's currently partaking in? Or maybe the dilated pupils that make me think she's on some sort of opioid.

This was supposed to be really straightforward. She was supposed to just charge at us and get cleaved into tiny bits by Nero's sword. Simple, right? If only I remembered that things are never simple in my life.

You know what would make this better?

Gunfire.

A shot rings out. The sound cuts through the Servant's shrill laughter like a hot knife through butter.

 _Clang._

I'd aimed the Pico straight at her left eye, the one that wasn't nervously twitching.

"Well, looks like she's actually a Servant." She blocked the shot as if it were nothing. Not even flinching from the concussion of the gunshot.

"Was that really up for debate, Praetor?"

I shrug. "Nope, but at least I managed to stall that annoying cackle of hers." And it did in fact do that. Our enemy is completely stunned, incapable of voicing her exact thoughts on what just happened. Her brain has encountered an error and all she's probably thinking is 'does not compute'. I mean, it's not every day you see a Pig that's willing to fight back before getting slaughtered.

"Yo, crazy bitch! What the hell do you want?" Maybe Rin was right. Maybe we should have just retreated. It would have spared me having to deal with this goofy ass shit. At this point I barely even want to fight. She's completely messed with my mojo. Fighting her would accomplish very little besides getting her away from my land and potentially killing her to rid the world of her annoying presence. I have to say I'm interested in why a Master would send their rapid dog to ambush us. Maybe they were going for the shock and awe method and just thought sending a lunatic at us would work? Surely, they didn't think this buffoon would be capable enough to pull off a successful assassination?

"W-w-w-what did y-y-y-ou . . . ?"

"Praetor, I do not think rationalizing with her is going to work. She seems to be beyond that."

"You might have a point, but I'm kind of bummed out, y'know?"

"I do not understand, Praetor."

"I was expecting her to blitzkrieg us only to get her ass whooped. Instead she's just kind of sitting over their mumbling to herself. Before that she was sitting over there cackling to herself. It's just boring."

"You are not suggesting Rin was right, are you?" Oh boy, there is a hidden edge lying in wait in those words. Totally not going to walk into that trap.

"Not at all. If anything, it's now our civic duty to put her down. I just wish she was less . . . whatever she is."

"She hasn't got the brains of a sleeping two-year-old rocked in the rook of her father's arm."

"Catallus?"

"Yes, Praetor. I am surprised you are familiar with him. Do you have an interest in poetry?"

"Not really, just an interest in epic insults."

"A superb poem and a well-directed insult are both concocted by a clever wordsmith, Praetor. So, in essence your interest should be in both."

"Under that logic I could argue that a beautiful sculpture and a well-made rifle are both made by a skilled artisan, and therefore you should have an interest in both trades."

She appears to think hard about what I say. As to why this is the case, well, that's anyone's guess. There's a major flaw in my response. That being, having a knack at wordplay can easily translate to having skill in both crafting poetry and whipping up insulting remarks. Being a skilled artisan implies you've limited your focus on one form of crafting. An artist cannot simply put down his paintbrush, pick up a hammer, and start forging a sword. Well . . . Smith Corona did switch from building typewriters to building serviceable M1903A3s but . . . typewriters to bolt-action rifles isn't that far of a stretch.

Pablo Picasso trying his hand at becoming the next Paul Mauser (rest his soul) is.

"You may have a point there, Praetor. Very well. There is only one option then. I leave myself in your capable hands."

"The hell are you on about, woman?"

The semi-insane, half-reptilian she-beast interrupts us before Nero can elaborate further. "My Master is telling me to fall back." I can assume this isn't really meant for us to hear. Her tone is meek, regretful, and lacks any degree of self-confidence. Like a child that's just been given a particularly length timeout. Basically, it's more in line with the inane blubbering noises she's been making during most of this conversation I've had with Nero. A complete 180 from the audacious threats she was tossing left and right at the beginning of this 'confrontation'.

I almost feel bad for the girl. To some extent she's pitiful. But it's that kind of pitiful that just makes you want to mercy kill them, y'know? Her very existence seems painful and I can't help but question how such an oddball could be considered a Heroic Spirit. This one is far more unexplainable than the other Servants we've encountered. She's an anomaly almost on the level of Nero. But not in a good way. She's the antithesis of Nero.

She's the freaking anti-Nero!

"Praetor, did you hear what she mumbled to herself?"

"Yup. Looks like she's just wasted a good fifteen minutes of my life for no apparent reason."

"We are not going to let her escape, are we?"

Decisions, decisions. On one hand I doubt I can actually stop her from fleeing. Spirit form and all that. But on the other hand, I kind of feel like I should at least make an attempt at stopping her. I mean, she has wasted my time and she did try to kill me. This whole thing felt like she was just trying to make her presence known. It was one of those 'notice me, senpai' moments, though I pray to Pesci that Nero's the 'senpai' and not me.

"If she's going to leave we might as well give her a parting gift." I'm proud to see a knowing grin form on Nero's face. "See if you can lighten her load a bit. Cut off a limb, or maybe one of those stupid wings. It might hasten her departure."

She doesn't need to be told twice. With a battle cry that would make the Celts nod in respect, she strides straight for the spear-wielding Servant. Said Servant looks a bit taken aback that we actually decided to attack her instead of just letting her leave scot-free.

What an idiot. You ambush someone in an attempt to kill them, insult them, and then expect them to just happily wave goodbye and bid you farewell when you try to sneak off? I think I finally have a word for what she is.

She's a ne'er-do-well. A no good, dirty ne'er-do-well.

The 'fight' lasts about as long as it takes me to yawn out of boredom. Seriously, it's probably the worst fights I've ever seen in my life just because it ends so quickly. The number one member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee flounders about when she realizes she's about to get turned into mincemeat. Nero has enough brains on her not to try and rocket jump up to the dipshit's level and instead does something that would make Paul Bunyan cream his pants in ecstasy.

She cuts the entire goddamn tree down with a single stroke of her sword . . . and then she cremates the entire thing by igniting her blade and sending a torrential downpour of flames directly at our foe.

Does this hit her? Yes. But at a cost.

A sizeable portion of my fucking forest being that cost.

Smokey the Bear would be flipping his shit seeing this. Hell, I'd be flipping my shit too if not for the drain in prana such a move cost me. Did she use her Noble Phantasm just then? Why are there rose petals cascading down upon me from the sky? Am I in a CoverGirl commercial? All these questions and more flow through my head as I try desperately to turn my eyes away from the scorched mess before me.

 _Clang._

The sound of metal meeting metal breaks me from my daze. "No fucking way." There's no way someone survived such an attack. I lost a few acres worth of building materials because of that. At least tell me the bitch it was directed at got her ass blasted as a result.

"How are you alive?!"

It dawns on me almost instantly once I think about it. "Battle Continuation." You've got to be fucking kidding me. She's got Battle Continuation. There's no other way she would be capable of fighting back after taking such a hit.

For a split-second Nero turns towards me. Just a slight turn of the head. It's out of instinct I'm guessing. Her inherent desire to make eye contact with the person speaking to her. A completely natural response in most people.

And one that almost gets her killed.

The enemy applies pressure on the shaft of her spear, pushing Nero back and freeing herself from the unintentional clashing of their blades. Just as quickly as that happens, she tries to whip the spear around and use it to slash into the side of Nero's face.

It's a sloppy attack, not at all suited for her choice of weapon. If the spear she was using wasn't so uniquely shaped I'd imagine such a blow would be practically ineffective. From that little slipup I can be certain that she's not a very good spearman . . . or would it be spearwoman? Still, her weapon isn't shaped like the average spear so such a move is bound to cause significant damage if it lands.

Nero being killed isn't out of the question. If it landed it'd probably cleave her face in half. Even if she survived that I doubt she'd be able of living with herself. The woman cares a lot about her appearance.

Thankfully it doesn't land.

 _Boom!_

Heroic Spirits are really fucking fast. That's a given. But how fast? Well, that's hard to determine. All I can say is that this spear chick is way faster than the other enemies we've faced. Her Agility must be on par with Nero's considering how they're almost even as far as their reflex times go.

Doesn't mean much considering I still managed to land a shot.

The Trench Gun is really, really loud. So loud that I go deaf instantly. I'm not even kidding, I didn't put enough thought in the action to prepare myself. When I fired that single shot with the Pico I could afford to think about it enough to reinforce my ears from the blast. This time I couldn't do that. All I could do was pull out the folded down version of it, unfold it, and fire.

That took less than a second. Mainly because I modified the gun to facilitate the reverse origami process. The shotgun no longer has a stock and instead it's been chopped down to just a pistol grip. The barrel's also been sawed-off to a respectable length of fourteen inches. Considerably shorter than the standard 20" length it started out with. Thankfully Saint Browning is long dead or else he'd probably slap me silly if he saw how I'd desecrated his design.

Only reason I did this is for the concealability. It's faster to fold down because there's less mass to move. This works in reverse. An object that is smaller is easier to reform after being folded down, therefore it's faster to prepare. I'd still be faster if I were drawing an already built gun (like my Pico) from a holster, but this is probably the best I can do considering I can't sling a shotgun on my back and walk through town. Without rebuilding a new gun from scratch every time I need one. The reduced weight of the shotgun with its chopped off parts is yet another benefit.

Now let's talk about the consequences of such a stupid idea.

First off, I'm deaf. More so than I was prior to taking the shot. There was a distinct _pop_ sound that happened right after pulling the trigger and now both of my ears hurt like hell while my head feels like someone just took a jackhammer to it.

Secondly, the spread on the actual shot is so damn wide it makes Kiara look tight . . . .

Fuck. That came out wrong.

It was supposed to be a fat joke, I swear! An ironic fat joke because Kiara is obviously not obese! Don't take it that way goddammit!

Ahem. Now is probably where I should let it be known that immediately after pulling the trigger I also dropped the gun, thus removing any chance of me pulling off a follow-up shot. How'd this happen? Simple. I tried to fire a pistol grip pump shotgun one-handed. The recoil, along with my sudden deafness, kind of surprised me and because of that my grip slipped. Thankfully I hadn't been a complete idiot and managed to avoid clocking myself in the face by holding the gun a good distance out. Despite the benefits it offers (those being very few) this probably isn't a gun that should be kept on my lap at all times. At least . . . not in the configuration it is in at the moment. It's likely to cause more damage to me than the enemy.

But please cut me some slack. The main goal was to keep it in as small as a package as possible for a quick deployment time. This was done with the assumption that I'd have enough time to plaster on a replacement stock before having to actually take a shot. Was it a flawed plan? Obviously. My burning wrist and bleeding ears are a testament to that. I was desperate and reacting to a situation that could have resulted in Nero getting murdered before me.

So what if I might've sprained my wrist because I didn't reinforce it and had an improper grip on the gun?

So what if the one thing that I have readily available (the Pico's already reholstered at this point) to protect myself is lying in the dirt a few feet away?

And so what if I accidentally hit Nero as well as the enemy with that shot?

Oh yeah. Know how I mentioned the spread of the shot was kind of wide? We're not shooting from fifty yards away here (more like twenty) so I may have been exaggerating that to a degree. Doesn't matter though. Nero and the pink-haired chick were sort of close to one another. And not in the amicable, buddy-buddy kind of way.

Yeah, some of the buckshot grazed Nero. By 'some' I mean a decent amount. Like, maybe five or six of the total eight pellets that I sent down range. My aim might have also been slightly off. Ok, it may have been significantly off. Goes to show you how important it is to follow firearm safety rules. "Be sure of your target and what is beyond it" and "never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy" are two that I really, really broke just now. But hey, she's a Heroic Spirit so she can take it. It did what it was meant to do. It caused that spear chick to deviate slightly from her intended move and hesitate. That allowed Nero to respond by cutting her in half.

Or . . . it should have.

Instead Nero seems just as distracted as the enemy and it appears my involvement (while saving my partner's life) might have just unintentionally allowed the enemy to escape. Yes, escape. The coward realizes she has a momentary relief from the battle and takes advantage of it by going into spirit form.

Whether or not this is the result of her Master (they could have used a Command Spell for all I know) doesn't matter. What does matter is that the enemy's a goddamn chicken. A chicken with a few reptilian features. Like that stupid looking tail. Screw that chicken's lizard tail.

I watch as Nero opens her mouth and begins to speak. At least, I'm hoping she's trying to talk to me. It'd be kind of weird if she just opened that pie hole of hers and began wiggling her lips around. From my fairly mediocre ability to read lips I can make out "got" and "away". The disappointed look in her eyes and the dejected slumping of her shoulders tells me everything I really need to know. Still, I can't exactly let her just assume I know what the hell it is she's saying to me.

"I can't hear you!" I don't really know if this is what I say, I'm just assuming it is because it's what I intend to say. Probably even screamed at her without even realizing it. Fuck. The only sound I'm hearing is that annoying ringing noise. It's like a fire alarm is perpetually blaring directly into my eardrum. Public service announcement everyone: tinnitus is a bitch. I'm also experiencing a bit of pain at the moment. Not just from my ears. No, remember I mentioned my wrist burning? Well, really it's my entire hand. The wrist is just the most noticeable part. It's also the most important. I can still pull something off with broken fingers, but a broken wrist is a whole nother thing in comparison.

Is it likely to be broken? No. That'd be an incredibly unlucky injury. One in a million kind of thing. I wasn't holding the shotgun properly but my form wasn't so awful that it'd cause that kind of damage. Though I suppose anything is possible. Maybe I just won the lottery in terms of crippling impairments?

Again, Saber tries to say something to me. This time I catch "Praetor" and "wrong" but really there could be a multitude of things she's saying just based on those two words. Thankfully we don't have to participate in a game of charades to be able to communicate. There's one easy way to handle this without much frustration.

 _It would seem that I've gone deaf._

 _Praetor!_ She sounds concerned. That's nice. I'm more concerned about the possibility that the enemy might return and try a second attempt at ambushing us (though that's unlikely). Oh, and the raging inferno engulfing the forest surrounding us is also worthy of concern.

 _Don't worry too much about it. I'll figure something out. Do me a favor though and put this fire out. I really would rather avoid seeing all the trees go up in flames._

Wow, I sound like some dopy hippy. The kind that'd tie themselves to a tree to stop bulldozers from tearing it down. Wait . . . I wonder what happened to that lone cherry blossom? Should check up on it sometime soon. Haven't kept up with the local news so I have no idea as to what its fate was . . . . Shit! Why is she igniting her sword again?! We need less flames not more!

 _Stopping the flames as requested, Praetor._ And so she does, literally fighting fire with fire by creating a backfire that quickly eats up any fuel the main bit could have taken advantage of. With this done she plants her sword blade first into the ground . . . for whatever reason? Oh. Now she's leaning against it. Well that's not good.

"Nero?" Dammit. My mouth moved a little just then so I probably said that aloud without intending to.

She waves aside my likely borderline unintelligible voiced concern. _It is alright, Praetor. I am merely experiencing a migraine . . . it will pass._ She grits her teeth, as if she's attempting to suppress visibly showing her pain. _Eventually._

Now I feel doubly bad. I can't help but be worried despite my own injured state. "Alter." I whisper this as much as possible to avoid noticeably enunciating incorrectly. It's likely she still hears whatever mumbled mess I say but I like to think she doesn't. With a single spell I solidify the blood that had already started to flow out from my ears, prematurely clotting it by forcing the iron in it to clump together. It doesn't fix the whole 'not hearing' thing but at least it stops me from making a further mess. Wouldn't want ear blood to get on my jacket. Red stains are really hard to get out of white fabric. Probably more difficult than mending ruptured ear drums. Which . . . is likely what I have. Ruptured ear drums, that is. That was probably what that _pop_ was.

Fantastic.

 _Nero?_ _Why don't you lay down if you need to_? I go to place a hand on her shoulder, something that's should be sufficiently comforting for her.

I miss.

 _What?_ My hand veers off towards the left, missing Nero's shoulder by a good half a foot. If only it ended there. Before I know it, I'm starting to get closer and closer to the ground itself.

An arm stops my unexpected descent, wrapping itself around my torso and acting as my personal safety net.

 _Appreciate the save._ Of course it's Nero's arm that came in for the assist. Which . . . now that I think about it probably isn't the best idea . . . .

We both collapse. I'm unsure if I'm the one that brings her down, or if she would have fallen on her own regardless of my interaction.

Whatever the case, the two of us are intertwined together on the dirt floor. And it's none of that romance novel bullshit where we're locked in a loving embrace or anything. No, it's a bit 'different' than that.

"Holy shit! Get off of me, you're breaking my goddamn arm!" I think that's what I'm saying. Could be something completely different, but that's what I'm going for. Yes, Nero is on my arm and she weighs much more than you'd think she would. I don't know if this is a Heroic Spirit thing or a 'you're fatter than you look' thing. Maybe a combination of both? Or maybe neither, and I'm just in worse shape than I thought I was.

Oh shit, she's laying on the arm that was holding the shotgun. It hurts like hell!

I don't know if Nero replies to this. If she does she does so vocally and not mentally. I'm not facing her at the moment. Instead I'm trying my best to get her off of me so I can get off the ground. Easier said than done considering there are limbs of my own that are currently pinning her to the ground. It's like one big fucked up game of Twister. Except without the neat plastic mat you're supposed to play on.

What makes this worse is that we're apparently both really woozy. Her from her migraine and me from the sudden bout of dizziness I seem to have acquired from losing my hearing. Either that or I'm suffering from overexerting my nerve circuits. Though I really hope that's not the case. It'd be pitiful if that happened from just a few minor usages of Alteration.

We continue contributing to this sprawling mess, probably looking quite akin to two pigs mulling about in the mud. No, I'm still not over that chick calling me 'pig'. Who the hell does she think she is? If you're going to label me some random barn animal at least call me something moderately flattering. Like 'Rooster'. I mean, who can bring themselves to hating roosters? They're the world's first alarm clock, and despite having one of the most unintentionally insulting nicknames in existence they still waltz around as if they own the place.

So, yeah. Crazy dragon lady if you're going to call me anything call me 'Rooster'. It sounds like I'm a member of a gang that uses Chinese zodiac signs as codenames. That's far more preferable than nicknaming me after pre-cooked bacon.

 _Praetor, this . . . doesn't seem to be working._

You can say that again. The problem is that we're both trying to be the first to get themselves untangled. In the process we're just fighting with one another, prolonging our time in the dirt.

 _Alright. How about you get up first? Use the sword for support to pull yourself free._

 _That might be the best idea._

 _Even if it isn't, it's far better than wallowing in the dirt._

 _I can agree with that, Praetor. I might need a new outfit after this is all done and over with. What kind of emperor would I be if I allowed myself to waltz around in a soiled dress?_

Strange. I was under the assumption that her clothes could dematerialize and rematerialize on command. Sort of like her sword and, well, herself. Shouldn't she be able to just replace the damaged and dirtied cloth by doing that? Probably. Which means she's just trying to use it as an excuse to go shopping. Pesci, my wallet's going to take another hit.

Hopefully this won't be as fatal a blow as last time.

 _And what kind of Praetor would I be if I allowed my Emperor to be seen in rags?_

If she replies to that she does so audibly. Probably with a nervous cough or something like that. The only indication I have as to what her reaction is are the emotions she lets spill through our mental link. Those being shock, awe, and an underlying touch of pride. It's safe to say she was expecting me to shoot down her idea without a second thought. I could have, but what's the point? Might as well humor her. Wasting time shopping for clothes during the War might sound ridiculous (hell, it is ridiculous) but it might just be the slice of mundanity I need after the chaos of the last few days.

Plus, I'm going to need a seamstress mend my jacket now. Should have layered it with Reinforcement prior to all of this but, as they say, hindsight is 20/20.

But first, I need my hearing fixed. That's priority numero uno. Well, technically my first priority should be getting off of the ground but . . . .

Yowch! What the hell?!

Somewhere along the line Nero managed to get herself upright. Unfortunately, she did so only by using her nearby sword as a means of propelling herself up. Now, logically this would have been simpler had she just gone into spirit form but clearly neither of us thought of this easy answer to a complex problem.

So instead she lifts herself up using the sword, and apparently that sword wasn't the steadiest of perches. The ground was probably the cause of this. It wasn't exactly stable after the destruction wrought upon it, nor had it ever been. In a few months it'd likely have been immovable due to frost. Now though? Well, it was chilly but not freezing. The soil was still soft.

When Nero put her weight on that sword she did so under the assumption that it'd hold her. It should have, this a quintessential piece of her legend after all, but it didn't. Or rather, the earth in which it was driven into didn't hold her. The sword came tumbling down, with Nero right behind it mind you, all atop of little old me.

If only she had been the first thing to hit me. At least she was soft. That jagged slab of metal she calls her sword isn't soft. No. It's very, very hard. And very, very sharp. Thank Pesci that the sharp part wasn't what hit me. I just got a face full of pommel. Not great, but not as bad as what could have happened.

And then Nero landed on me, making things much worse by pushing her sword into my face even more with her weight. I'm probably going to have an imprint of this damned thing left behind. The only good part about this is that she didn't do something unbelievably stupid like try and suffocate me with her breasts. If she had I would have doubted her genuineness. There's no way someone can do such a thing unintentionally. Not in real life at least.

Instead of boobs I get an elbow to the face. Or rather an elbow that pushes her sword further into my flesh. It's unpleasant to say the least. I now have a deep feeling of empathy for pancakes.

 _Praetor, I feel I should apologize for this._

 _You think?_

 _I should also mention that Rin saw most of what just transpired. She is currently laughing at you._

Terrific. Of course she'd show up now.

 _Don't you mean, she's laughing at us?_

That seemed to get the gears turning. Nero pushes herself off at me, and in a display of strength she forces herself to stand. Not even using the sword as a prop. I don't know what she says to Rin, and I don't think I want to know. All I see is her chattering on about something, quite animatedly at that, and gesticulating like a madwoman in the general direction I assume Rin is in.

 _She is no longer laughing, Praetor._

Wow. She certainly sounds pleased with herself. Is this what you call Roman diplomacy?

 _Does she know that I can't hear her?_

 _Yes, I informed her of this._

 _What did she say?_

 _She insulted your intelligence._

 _How ladylike. Tell her to kiss my ass and take us to this 'nurse' of hers._

 _In that order?_

 _In that order._

Well, Rin doesn't take too kindly to that. Long story short, she doesn't kiss my ass. I know, I know, her loss. She does offer to finally lead us to whoever she knows that can fix my hearing. Or, I assume she does. Nero's acting as a mediator here and I'm assuming she's censoring portions of Rin's commentary. I don't mind it though, she's telling me the important bits and leaving out the useless opinions. Criticism is only important when you plan on making the same mistake twice.

It goes without saying that I'm never going to do what I just did ever, ever again.

I'll repeat myself once more. Tinnitus. Is. A. Bitch.

But hey, at least Magecraft can cure anything? Right? Right?

Jesus Christ, I hope it can. If not, I'm going to really miss listening to the sound of my own voice.

* * *

 **AN: Originally this was supposed to have been updated two weeks after the last chapter. Obviously that didn't happen. Mainly because I was massively incorrect as to how much content I already had ready to go. Big apologies for that. Remember that last chapter was pushing the 20k mark and that I decided to cut it? Well, I still have that cut portion left over. That's right, this entire chapter was whipped up from scratch (except for like 200 words in the beginning). Praise me for my dedication! XD. On second thought, don't. Because I still didn't meet the deadline I set for myself D: But, hey, I still have like 10k words left over from Chapter 12 that will be popping up sometime in a future chapter. I decided not to use it for this chapter because it mostly consists of a argument between Rin and Dante and I don't feel it fit into the events that are currently going on. Also, I have to give a big thanks once again to King Keith. He's the reason Elisabeth (or is it Elizabeth?) popped up this early in the story. So if you are like the developers of Grand Order (there's like five different versions of her) you're probably stoked to see her. And with that brief explanation out of the way let's get on with me responding to your reviews!**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: I could swear that he already has . . . maybe I'm thinking of something that happened in GEGE. Either that or it's something I've got planned for the future ;D. As for who Pesci is . . . first off go watch Goodfellas or Casino right now! Second, he's a somewhat short Italian-American actor known for his roles in many famous gangster films. Most of which were directed by Martin Scorsese. It's a running gag that Dante has developed a joke religion based on his reverence towards Pesci as a godlike being. Which in of itself is a reference to a joke George Carlin made regarding Pesci. And if you're unsure of who the random names he labels as 'Brother' or 'Saint' are, well basically he's canonized firearms inventors as his 'saints' based on how important they are to him.**

 **Anthem of the Night: Heheheh. I'm just going to say I have a lot planned for Rin Emiya. I'm not sure if I'm the first one to go this route (probably not) and I'm not sure if people will receive it well or not but . . . I wanted to do something a little different. That's all I'll say for now! And I'm glad to see I'm not the only one that despises conversations with more than two people. It's probably heavily apparent that I tried as hard as possible to avoid having Rin, Nero, Dante, and Bathory talk at once this chapter. It just would have ended up being a mess had I not done so. I'm glad you caught onto that bit about Kiara too. That's probably the main reason for her being different in this story (at least in terms of her hacking abilities). Dante's involvement had a lot to do with it too considering he got her out of the cult before it escalated to the mass suicide that happened pre-Extra. I . . . hope I didn't spoil anything. Oh well, not like it was that unexpected XD. I'm going to try my best at downplaying his involvement though. I don't want this to be a story about how one character (Dante) managed on mixing up the entirety of Extra's timeline. I like to think it's mainly because this isn't really just Extra (it's more of a mishmash of Stay Night's timeline and Extra's) because there's no way one guy like Dante could have that big of an impact on the world.**

 **Darebear the bear: Kiritsugu adopting Rin Edefelt . . . now that right there is an interesting idea. Too bad you have a better imagination than I lol! Her backstory isn't quite that complicated. I'm glad you like how I wrote Rin. For whatever reason I find her to be the hardest one to write consistently. Second only to Elizabeth (Elisabeth?). Which is ironic considering I decided to include them both in the story regardless. We'll definitely be seeing more Shinji moments. In fact I plan on him being a bigger part of this than Rin really. Right now we're just technically still in the prologue phase (Shinji doesn't even have a Servant yet) and I'm just introducing the main bunch of characters that you'll be seeing with Dante. There's one other Master that's going to have a big role . . . and she'll take more of that 'daughter' role you're thinking about than Shinji. He's kind of going to end up being a mini-protegee to Dante. Sort of like the Robin to Dante's Batman XD. I really need to show Kiara more screen time! I really understand why Nasu decided to go with three separate paths. There's a lot of content to be done when you have three main heroines. Right now I'm thinking more along the lines of having her with a Servant actually being in the main plot but later writing an omake 'good ending' involving her. And thank you for this last idea! Seriously, you can sort of see the framework for it being laid in this chapter already. Personally I was questioning as to whether or not Nero would be able to do that (I thought her Imperial Privilege was restricted to skills like Artistry, Military Tactics, and Swordsmanship) but . . . considering she supposedly built a chariot with a jet engine . . . I'd say Dante could show her how to craft firearms. And then in turn he could learn from her.**

 **TheTrueOverlordBear: Oh. Oh dear. It gets a bit more complicated than that XD. The Emiya family tree is a mess to say the least lol. And we're definitely going to see some mention regarding GARcher. I (not so) subtly hinted that he had existed at one point in this world but met his end. Well . . . we'll learn exactly how that happened. It's much different than how he died in the Stay Night timeline and not even similar to his death in Extra. I am totally going to play on that part of Nero's history. Mostly at the expense of Dante XD. And I agree wholeheartedly with how you view the Moon Cell. It just didn't feel as 'serious' as Zero and Stay Night in my opinion. Which is kind of sad because the backstory behind it is really fantastic. Originally I just wanted to explore the world Extra was set in outside of the Moon Cell and it became this story. Unfortunately Twice won't be in this. Balancing both him, Kiara, and Leo as the three baddies would be too much for me to handle lol. Instead his role was in the Grail War prior to this one and he'll be referenced in passing a few times. And yes, he summoned Tamamo in that war :D. My only regret is that I wish I had more of the Tsukihime branch of things in this. I've heard some of the wackiest Nasuverse events happen in it. Sadly I haven't read the visual novel (yet) so I don't even want to try and incorporate elements of it into this without a full comprehension on them. It'd probably make everything ten times more complicated but I'd imagine it'd be even more of a blast! Operation: Visual Pollution is at first only going to lead us into meeting the character Kaz in person. It'll also establish exactly what type of organization Dante has set up in Fuyuki. Later on however . . . well that's a surprise! Hope to see your fic come to light in the future. Any content involving Mordred is welcomed content! Shounen is definitely not my forte though XD. I'm godawful at writing fight scenes lol. But they're of great importance when you're writing about the Saber of Red so I wish you luck. And thanks once again for your feedback, you're too kind! I write mainly as a hobby, the slow updates peeve me off mainly because I procrastinate so much on getting them done. I'm sure if I hustled a bit more I could have a chapter up every few weeks instead of every few months. But I get where you're coming from and I appreciate it :)**

 **Lady Vanatos: Yo, is that Atalanta in your profile pic? Noice. I can see you're a man/woman of culture as well. I appreciate your kindness too, but I'm not too worried about how much attention I get. If I got too many reviews it'd be almost impossible to actually respond to all of you guys like this :D.**

 **Random Rockets: I'm sure you've already heard this (multiple times) but read those VNs A.S.A.P. (if you can)! It's a ridiculous feat considering how much material is in them but that's what makes them so great. Trust me when I say you won't regret it. The anime we've seen so far only covers the surface. But . . . that being said I'm still stoked about Heaven's Feel (as well as Last Encore). I tried to keep this story as accessible as possible for everyone (even those who have no experience with the Fate series) so I'm really glad you're keeping up with it alright. While I preach the wonders of the VNs you're probably going to be fine for almost the entire story just of the animes XD. There might be a few miscellaneous characters popping up that you won't know about but I'm going to do my best in explaining who they are and what they're deal is. It's great you had a blast reading this because I've definitely had a blast writing it for ya!**

 **King Keith: Mwahahaha. Many, many bad things are going to be happening in the future. We're just at the tip of the iceberg, so to speak :D.**

 **Diarmuid-Guest (Still lovin' that you've adopted this moniker as your own XD): Oh jeez, I hadn't even thought of how the Sola-Ui angle would go D: But . . . I'd like to think she'll have a bigger role than she did in Zero. She was more of a damsel in distress as the end of things there and she can't really be that when Kayneth's not a Master, can she? Her falling in love with Diarmuid might be a thing Dante could exploit to get Kayneth of his back. Or . . . she could just be a constant nagging presence in Kayneth's life a la Karen's relationship with Plankton in Spongebob (yes, a strange reference I know). See, I might be too ambitious (doubtful XD) but I was thinking along the lines of two separate timelines involving Zero. One with Dante post-Schizoid Man (still working that out) and one with him being Diarmuid's Master. The Diarmuid spin would be a single story though. No sequels for Dante in that one I'm afraid ): As for why that's the case well . . . let's just say as of this moment (before I've even started to write it) Dante finds his ending when Diarmuid does. Might be subject to change but as of now I already have an ending planned out. So it goes without saying that Zouken getting absolutely trolled would have little effect on future events :D as there would be no future events (no sequels or whatnot). Diarmuid with his spear that negates magic would really mess up the poor worm's day!**

 **Mr. Tanaka: Oh Christ you've just given me many, many awful ideas XD. I didn't think about Fran when spit balling that idea but now that you mention her . . . . Proto Fragments and Strange Fake have one big problem though . . . I'm fairly certain they haven't been translated into English D: I'd probably have to wait until that happens before trying my luck with them. Otherwise I'm going to go entirely off of Google translate and what's happening in the artwork. Which . . . might not work the best lol. You're idea is really cool though! Tying Zero and Stay Night's a given (in fact I was thinking about tying them to Schizoid Man, just not the Diarmuid fic) but tying Apocrypha to Strange Fake is something I wouldn't have thought of. I just might feel a little bad for Atalanta. Especially if I manage to have some heartfelt character development between her and Dante only for him to forget about her in a second war XD. A series revolving around Dante might be a bit ambitious for now though lol. I'm going to hold back until I finish this story before I start taking a crack at another one (else we might never see updates lol). Then I'll probably literally flip a coin as to whether or not Diarmuid or Atalanta would go first and go from there.**

 **Guest 1: Technically? No. Because at that point there were no romantic feelings between them. Arguably their aren't any now but . . . I won't destroy your shipping dreams T_T. I think their relationship would be more like two childhood friends ending up together. There's really only like five or six (I forget off the top of my head) years between them.**

 **Guest 2: I admit you have a point. But I must counter it nonetheless XD! From what I've read the Gunner class works more as a 'double summon' class. As in it's a secondary class that pops up in addition to the primary class (usually Archer). It works kind of like Semiramis being an Assassin with Caster skills. Now, this might change considering what we've heard about Billy the Kid. Heck, Billy the Kid's existence as a Servant (as well as several others) mix up a lot of what was already established in canon pre-Grand Order. Originally you couldn't be a Heroic Spirit if you wielded firearms only. It was some rule about how with proper training anyone with a gun could become a legend and thus it diminished the quality of potential heroes. I believe it was elaborated on by saying the guns themselves would enter the Throne and not the users. So we'd see an AK47 directly as a Servant summoned that'd have jacked up powers instead of some famous Spetsnaz guy that used a AK (say one of the guys in the Battle of Hill 3234). Of course now that's all out the window because we have several gun toting Servants about. Right now I'd say there's not quite enough info on the Gunner class for me to take a shot at it (I wouldn't want to write something that'd later become non-canon after all) though I do like the idea of Dante becoming the conduit for Billy the Kid. Though I'd probably not have it be Billy that's his 'partner' and instead someone else. Simo Hayha's the easy pic but . . . I want to be a little bit more original :D. How about Doc Holiday? His personality would mesh well with Dante's I think. And thanks! I try my best to hear everyone out. There's a lot of ideas you all have given me that I wouldn't have thought up on my own :)**

 **Guest 3: Nope. Not really. That's Rin Tohsaka, the OG Rin. Or as I like to call her 'Rin Sr.'. This is Rin Jr. Whether or not they're related is in question. I would most definitely add more. It'd be definitely more 'on rails' (as in following canon plot more) than this story but not scene for scene or anything. In fact Dante would probably have a premature hunt established against Gilles. That'd mix up a lot of things right there. Him and Kariya in a fight scene? It's on the table. Him and Kariya making an alliance? Also potentially on the table :D. Dante's also probably the only dude who'd straight up agree with Rider's original proposition at the docks. He'd negotiate but it'd be idiotic to turn down such a proposal when the result is a strong ally straight out the gates. Whether or not he'd betray Waver and Broskander is debatable . . . . Atalanta is technically one of the weaker ones. But that's mainly because her teammates are godly. Literally. Spartacus is iffy as to whether or not he's stronger. I'd say his inability to coordinate properly would end up being his downfall in a fight against her. Physical strength means little considering her strength lies in her ranged abilities (though Agrius Metamorphosis is pretty decent on it's own). I'd argue that a decent Master would be able to do well with her even against the guys she's up against. Apocrypha's unique because a crafty Master could play people against each other for their own gain. Will Dante do that? Doubtful. You'll see later on that he's actually somewhat reasonable when it comes to negotiations. In fact (in Schizoid Man at least) he's more open to creating alliances than outright killing people. Mainly because it's easier to just get everyone to sign a truce than it would be to fight them one by one. Hey, as long as it stops the War it's fair game XD.**

 **Appreciate all the reviews, favs, and follows people! As always, it means a lot! As a side note, I will be focusing on my other story 'Transparent' now. At least until I get up a new chapter for it XD. Then I'll head back to working on Schizoid Man. See ya then~**


	14. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Disclaimer: I definitely took way too long to update this. My other story "Transparent" should be getting a new chapter too within the next couple of weeks. Maybe. Hopefully. Oh, and keep in mind that everything italicized in this chapter is pretty much Dante and Nero communicating telepathically. Forgive me in advance because it does get a little grating on the eyes.**

* * *

 **Chapter 14- You Can't Always Get What You Want**

Quick update. My ears are 'better'. Quotations around that word simply because 'better' is subjective. Sure, my hearing's definitely 'improved' but that means little considering it was all but nonexistent just a scarce few moments ago. You see, this 'nurse' Rin knows isn't much of a mage. Big surprise, right? She's also not much of a 'nurse'. Nor is she a doctor. Or even a pharmacist. I'll put this as bluntly as possible. She's a quack. A glorified drug dealer. Except apparently, she's not a very good one because she almost exclusively hands out free samples.

This place is more like a hospice than a hospital, and Rin's brought me to a wannabe Mother Teresa that just so happens to (barely) fulfill the qualification of being a mage. Do I sound calm? Good, because right now that's what I'm going for. Righteous fury is bubbling underneath my cool façade. Blowing up at this woman (I refuse to indulge her fantasies any further by calling her a nurse) would accomplish nothing. She'd most definitely break down in tears.

That's the general impression I have of her. She's a kind-hearted but incompetent little mouse that squeaks anytime I so much as address her. Oh, and she's also overwhelmingly polite. Unbearably so. Every time she speaks she ends with an apology. A sincere one, which makes it even worse. I should not have to feel guilty about just conversing with someone, even though to do so I have to either A: use Nero as a mediator or B: force my fellow participant to scream at the top of their lungs so I can even hear them. I did mention my hearing's improved very little, did I not?

Anyway, this woman also has this frustrating tendency to ask me if I'm ok. If I were ok would I be here in this shithole of a–! Calm down, Dante, you're going to burst a vein. This woman likes to call me 'sir' too. 'Sir' this and 'sir' that. 'Sorry, sir.' 'Thank you very much, sir.' If I'm a 'sir' Don Quixote is a legitimate knight. Of course, she isn't really using the word 'sir'. I assume she's speaking in Japanese to Nero (I'm not going to have her scream when she looks like the effort would cause her to faint) so she's likely just referring to me by those irritating honorifics this language insists on using.

Never had much of a need for them, and as such I've unintentionally (well, somewhat intentionally) insulted many a Nipponese in my day. Eh, who cares? It's no different than the time in which I mistook the 'a' for masculine and the 'o' for feminine in Spanish. That lead to quite a few 'splendid' initial impressions. I'm rambling though, so let's get back to the matter at hand. A brief situation report on my current state of being.

I'm still 'partially' (mostly) deaf. I'm in this smelly, rundown little clinic situated in the very back of a distressingly eerie alleyway. There's a homeless man directly outside the front door drinking from a bottle of whiskey. A bottle I gave him. Unwillingly of course. Both Rin and Nero had scolded me to high heavens when I'd snuck into a liquor store on our way here. At least someone will get some pleasure from my vice of choice. If only he didn't insist on waiting outside the front door like a lost puppy. The poor fellow probably thinks he owes me something. Nice man, too much of a pushover though.

Had I been homeless (because of Nero) for more than a few days I would have likely just robbed a bank out of desperation. Granted, I doubt he can build guns from scratch faster than Keltec (not saying much) so maybe I should just praise him for having the strength to keep going forward despite his conditions? Or, maybe I should offer the guy a job? I'm probably short on workers as it stands, and anything is better than nothing. How else am I supposed to make a dent in that massive debt Nero placed on me by buying a mansion?

Well … I could just start producing counterfeit money but ... that'd potentially lead to me unknowingly inflating the market. As amazing as it'd be I don't think doing that would do me any favors. Even if it'd create a comparison between me and Mansa Musa. A vague one, but one nonetheless.

Pesci! Rambling again. Back to what's happening. I'm still deaf. Nero's been translating. This woman that was supposed to heal me is worthless. Rin left to do something ... Oh, that's another thing I should mention. Rin's disappeared. You're thinking it's suspicious, right? She pops up at my doorstep and directly after her arrival Nero and I get ambushed (again) by a new Servant. Then after the fallout's over Rin offers to 'aid' me and ends up blowing it by taking me to an unlicensed, unprofessional, novice mage that has the personality of a wallflower. Sounds like the work of a saboteur, does it not? It's the sort of scheme I'd come up with if I had the time (which I don't) and the patience (which I most definitely do not). Why is it that I let her leave?

Well, 'let her' doesn't really tell the whole story. In short, I was the one that forced her to leave. So, it might be a tad ungenerous of me to say she 'disappeared' of her own volition. Yes, she had something to do. Which was shady. But, I kind of ... encouraged her to do that 'something' sooner rather than later after she told me her 'nurse' was a novice …. By this I mean I physically removed her from my presence.

How, you may ask? How did you do that when she has the blessings of the Iron Sheik protecting her? One word. Nero. And my foot. Ok, four words but it still stands. Nero held her attention using her masterful skills in acting and then I tiptoed my way up using my EX-rank Presence Concealment and violently thrust my foot into her rump. The impact sent her into the waiting arms of my newfound hobo friend who then proceeded to grab her and shove her into a trashcan (as if she were Grover from Sesame Street) before she could fathom how royally she'd been duped.

Does this sound far-fetched? Of course. Nero may not have intentionally distracted Rin. They may have been having casual conversation when I may (or may not) have snuck up on them using makeshift camouflage I created by using Alteration on a nearby patient's gown to make it perfectly match the surrounding lighting.

I may or may not have then proceeded to wrap the thing tightly around Rin using Reinforcement and that prior snake trick I used on that Servant that was undoubtedly the Archer of this War. Then I may or may not have chucked her over my shoulder and run off into the street like Saint Nick carrying a bag of goodies for all the good little girls and boys.

In my haste, I may or may not have collided with my homeless amigo. I may or may not have said "Here! This thing's your problem now!" He may or may not have freaked out. Rin may or may not have begun trying to break her way out with Reinforcement. And I may or may not have nonchalantly (read: heavily) implied Mr. Hobo should dump her into the back of a nearby garbage truck that was just then running its routes. He may or may not have obliged and Rin may or may not currently be residing in the back of a smelly garbage truck.

Oh, but she did have something else she had to do. I heard her say as much through Nero. She just may or may not be actually capable of doing what she wanted to do. And what did her 'nurse' do throughout all of this? Nothing. She was making me a cup of coffee and didn't even know a scuffle had taken place. My excuse to cover up the event? "Rin had an errand she had to run."

No specifics, nothing for her to latch onto that she could question. It was the perfect crime. And hey, it wouldn't really be fair of Rin to get upset at me if she ever found her way back here. I mean, she sorta broke her part of the deal when the person she brought me to ended up not being able to fully heal me and I did cover her in that patient's gown fully so it's not like she's going to get her clothes ruined. She might smell a bit more than she did prior to that little event, but hey, I bet Napoleon Bonaparte did too when he was exiled. Doesn't mean he didn't deserve it.

Just like it doesn't mean Rin may or may not deserve accidentally being crushed in the truck's compactor. Yes, that is a thing they have. But judging from her skill in Reinforcement she'll probably break out before then. Eh, I give her a 55% chance of survival. That's better than 50/50 at least.

By the time she makes her way back to us, I'll be cooped up in that mansion in the forest with enough defenses to make the Maginot Line look like child's play. And Rin most definitely does not have the ability to employ blitzkrieg tactics. She is not a tank, and if she were to bring a tank I could build ten for every one she has as a counter. But first, she'll have to David Copperfield her way out of that death trap I may or may not have intentionally placed her in.

I'm sure when all is said and done we'll get a cheap laugh out of this and reminisce about it when we're old and wrinkly. Or she'll try to kill me. In which case I'll have a viable excuse to use 'self-defense' and reenact Hiroshima and Nagasaki right here in Fuyuki. Oh, I should mention I'm not kidding with this. It may not be apparent, but I'm positively pissed over the latest turn of events.

Why I don't think I've been this angry since realizing the extent Kiara was indoctrinated in …. Ah, but that's a topic for another day. Now I just need to worry about figuring out how to fix my hearing and avoid any future ambushes. Because, I swear to Pesci, the Buddha, God, Satan, Zeus, and every other even remotely divine figure that was worshipped in human history that if I get ambushed one more fucking time I'm going to take the Pico and shove it up a Servant's ass!

I'm not kidding! Did I mention that?! This is the third or fourth time we've been caught off guard! The third or fourth time we've had to retreat! And the third or fourth time we've had to lick our wounds with our tails between our legs! No more of this shit! I'm going on the offensive even if it means I have to fight every Servant at once. I'll raze this whole goddamn city down if … wait, shouldn't say that. The whole point of this is to save the city so … I'll raze an unpopulated portion of this city if it lets me get back at these jackasses that keep popping up like Saturday morning cartoon villains!

What in the ever-loving fuck was that last **thing** we had to deal with?! The Washboard Wyvern?! A Komodo Dragon Kesha?! An accurate visual representation as to why two nukes weren't enough?! Whatever that creature was (her piercing shrieks and the fact that she had wings leads me to conclude she was some amalgamation of a human and seagull) I know one thing for certain. Next time she comes around with her dopey looking gothic Lolita ass I'm going to take that microphone she calls a spear and insert it–

"H-h-here's your c-c-cof-fee?" Why is the fake nurse trembling? And why is Nero looking at me with concern in her eyes? Oh. I'm shaking. Physically shaking. As if I'm Michael J. Foxx.

"Thank you." I try and mumble this to her, hoping a low tone of voice will set them both at ease. For all I know my attempt at whispering is still a loud yell.

Judging from the small smile I'm given by my 'practitioner' I can tell that it's had some effect. Nero, on the other hand, doesn't look that convinced.

 _Are you alright, Praetor?_ She makes the tactful decision to communicate mentally rather than vocally. It makes this easier on me for two reasons. The first obviously being my inability to properly hear. The second being how much this method of conversing lends itself better to secrecy. And I don't necessarily want to audibly voice my concerns aloud in front of a woman that could very well be a mole for Rin.

 _Just … thinking about some things._

 _Such as?_

 _Our game plan going forward._

 _Understandable._

The manner in which she answers my response is a bit off-putting. Usually, she'd respond with some sort of suggestion, or ask me what the 'game plan' I had in mind was. Instead, she's just replied in a very clipped manner. As if something's on her mind–

 _Praetor? Are you going to ever explain why you did what you did to Rin?_

Well shit, that explains it. Probably was shocking to see me run off into the street with her like I did.

 _Was she not to be our ally in this War?_

She's being somewhat presumptuous with that kind of guesswork.

 _That's the assumption you made?_

 _Assumption? I thought it was agreed upon? You told her–_

I have to force myself to hold back a groan. _I can see why you had so much trouble handling the Senate in your lifetime._

 _P-p-praetor! I fail to see what relevance those ungrateful–?!_

Heh, I actually rustled her jimmies a little there.

 _Politics are a messy game, full of backstabbing and underhanded deals. It's weird to say this, considering what the history books say about you, but you're way too honest to be good at that kind of thing._

… _I can't tell whether or not I should take that as a compliment?_

 _Take it in stride. I'm probably the only one in history to ever consider Emperor Nero an honest person, but I do. You're as easy to read as an open textbook and it's obvious that even if you did the things they say you did it was a lifestyle forced upon you and not one you choose._

… _Praetor._ _You are not being fair._

 _But I should explain what this has to do with Rin. It's quite simple. Rin said she would take me to someone that could fix my hearing. She lied, and as such I see no reason to have her stick around._

 _So you … gave her to that man outside? Who then tossed her inside that … what is it called? That 'truck'?_

 _Exactly._

 _Was that really the best course of action? Could the two of you not have reconciled?_

 _Are you seriously defending her? What's gotten into you?_

… _We had an enlightening conversation, Praetor._

That definitely sounds like bad news.

 _I hope it wasn't about me._

 _Praetor, my pride seems to have rubbed off on you._

… _Shuddup. So then what did the two of you talk about?_

 _As your Emperor, I should strive to be forefront with you when possible but, as a woman, I feel some things are intended to be kept secret._

The hell kind of crypto-bullshit is she spouting?

 _Just … wait. Does this mean we've passed the Bechdel test?_

 _The what?_

"Ex-ex-excuse me?" Before I can elaborate further, we're interrupted by the pseudo-doctor. Based on the fact that I can actually hear her I'm assuming she's screaming at us. How one could speak in such a volume and yet somehow still come across as timid is something I'll probably never understand. "I don't mean to interrupt b-b-but the two of you have been staring at each other in silence for a few minutes."

Ah, that's right, she doesn't know Nero's my Servant (or at least she shouldn't if Rin kept her word). She probably doesn't even know about the War– No, that'd be too much to hope for. This conflict might be the last bastion of secrecy left in the world but even so it's something even the most novice mage will know of. After the last War, it wasn't something the Association could exactly hide even if they wanted to.

"Pardon us, we were just deep in thought." While it was quite the coincidence that two people would be daydreaming simultaneously, it's not an inconceivable occurrence. Had I been saying this to someone such as Kiara, Taiga, or probably even Rin they would have called me out on it. But this is the 'nurse' known as–

What was her name again? 'Sasuke'? Was that it? Rin told me it but I can't even be bothered to recall what she said. It starts with an 'S'. Has like six or maybe seven letters in it. Maybe more. Maybe less. I think it translated into 'strawberry'. Though maybe not. 'Satsuki'? 'Shiki'? 'Suburashi'? 'Seabiscuit'? Nope, none of those are ringing a bell. I don't know, she's kind of plain looking and not very competent (my ears are only at around 10% condition wise) so let's just call her NPC. No, not 'non-player character'. 'Not particularly competent'. What? I won't remember her the second I step out of her 'office'.

It's not that she's unattractive. By 'plain looking' I'm not trying to insult her. That pink-haired version of Miley Cyrus we encountered in the woods was most definitely not 'plain looking'. I would have much rather she be. Then I wouldn't have had to deal with her public indecency (the top of her dress was more revealing than the panty window in Nero's skirt). Nor, would she be such a nuisance. In this relatively short existence I've enjoyed I've come to the scientific conclusion that beautiful women are more likely to be unhinged in some manner. Kiara. Taiga (when she was younger). Rin. And yes, Nero. Love the girl to death but she's not exactly sane. I don't think anyone that's ruled a nation, let alone an empire, can have that word applied to them. And that's coming from me, so you know it's accurate.

In conclusion, Sunflower Seeds … err, 'NPC' is as much of a plain-Jane as you'd imagine, shy for a few details of her appearance, and that's not something I can fault her for. If anything, I commend her for having a beautiful (albeit frustrating) personality to offset the normalcy of her visage. If she didn't behave like a survivor of domestic violence it'd be all the better. I mean, she flinches every time I so much as gesture in her immediate direction. And she's got this distant, soulless, thousand-yard stare that's just unnerving to witness. Seriously. I've seen that look before in the eyes of human trafficking victims and child soldiers. It's not something I should be seeing in the cold, dead, violet (I mentioned she did have a few visual quirks, no?) pupils of an unlicensed street healer.

… I sound like a complete ass, don't I? Pardon me, but I can't help it. This woman's likely older than me. Not as old as Taiga but somewhat close if I'm going to go off of her crow's feet, wrinkled brow, and the slight specks of white in her brunette hair. I could be wrong. She could be younger than me. She's got a figure to rival Nero's. One that'd leave a more lasting impression if it didn't come packaged with her slouched shoulders and averted eyes. Eyes that are, again, unnerving to me because they're not at all fitting. Even if she is older than me, someone that naturally has her kind of personality shouldn't be so … jumpy. Maybe she's an ex-addict? Or a current one? She has the means with the various prescriptions (mundane and supernatural) she's surrounded herself with. But that doesn't seem right. She reminds me of how Kiara used to look … maybe that's why I'm focusing on this so much?

 _Praetor … you are rambling aloud._

Am I? Judging from the fidgeting the object of my perplexion is currently partaking in this is likely true.

 _You have also been staring her down. I tried to warn you, but you were not registering what I was saying._

 _That could be because you were trying to talk to a mostly-deaf man._

 _No, Praetor. I was trying to communicate through our mental link. You were so distracted in your musings that I was about to physically rouse you._

 _Do me a favor and do that if it ever happens again. You've noticed by now that it's easy for me to get distracted. We're going to have to figure out some kind of system if I can't get my hearing fixed._

 _I would be happy to do so, Praetor but … what about Sakura?_

 _Sakura?_

 _The nurse, Praetor._

 _Oh. You mean 'NPC'._

 _No, Praetor. I meant 'Sakura'. Your nicknames may be amusing in their childishness, but I do not think it wise to insult our host. Especially when she has been so kind._

 _Hey, don't blame me. Her name's way too generic for me to remember it right off the bat. What else was I supposed to do?_

 _Ask her what her name was?_

… _You're no fun, you know that?_

 _Praetor, only a sadist would mock those that serve them dutifully. I assure you I am most definitely not sadistic, and I had assumed this was the case for you as well._

 _First off, you made an inaccurate assumption. I'm a cruel, malicious, vindictive little man. Secondly, you're not sadistic? Ok, I don't want to really throw past mistakes in your face because you could do the same thing to me and neither of us would be any better from it but … can I just bring up the whole 'burning crucified Christians alive in your garden' thing?_

… _It would seem you need to be re-educated, Praetor. I am unsure where you have gotten your sources but these atrocities you associate with me simply did not happen._

 _You're going to go the "I dindu nuffin" route? Have we really stooped this low?_

 _I am being serious here, Praetor. If anything, you have done far worse by insulting Sakura after she tried to help you._

 _I don't think we can associate softcore genocide with bullying. I might be mistaken, but I'm fairly certain those two things are pretty incomparable in degree._

… _Just apologize, Praetor._

 _Next, you'll expect me to apologize to Rin._

 _Please, Praetor. If it were not beneath me I would do so in your stead._

 _Oh so apologizing isn't your thing but it has to be mine?_

 _I have not done anything wrong, Praetor. You have._

 _Are we really going to argue about this? We were doing so good except for the whole "you burning my forest" and "me going deaf" thing._

 _Praetor …._

 _Fine, fine. Pesci, you're worse than my mother._

 _I am merely trying my best to keep you in check, Praetor. I would expect you to extend the same courtesy towards me in the event I make a mistake._

 _Aren't you the 'I'm perfect 100% of the time' chick?_

 _No, Praetor. If I were perfect I likely would have sought out a different Master to contract with._

Ouch. That actually stings a little.

 _But … if you were perfect you would have done the same._

 _Here's where I'm supposed to say 'you're wrong' but I'm not going to because I'd be lying. Yeah, if I wasn't so much of a royal fuckup I would have probably summoned King Arthur or some other shithead._

 _Umu … you could have lied just a little, you know?_

 _Nah, there'd be no point. I think you've got a good read on how I act so you'd probably catch it. Besides, I think it goes without saying that perfection's overrated anyway. It's way more interesting having you as a Heroic Spirit._

… _That was unexpectedly touching, Praetor._

 _Well, King Arthur's a dude and you're an attractive woman so while it'd be interesting to have a bromance going on I can honestly say I prefer the eye candy._

 _Not bad, Praetor. You are definitely getting bolder, but I still have to deduct some points overall because it was obvious your heart was not in it._

 _Heh, see? I figured you could tell if I was lying. Now you just have to figure out what part of that spiel was the lie. Anyway–_

 _Wait, what do you mean by that?_

 _Anyway, I don't know how we got sidetracked from me mumbling about how depressing our 'host' was to this. I'll apologize to her, but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. This isn't something I'm exactly used to._

 _Praetor, I feel it would be in your best interest to first explicitly reveal exactly what you meant when you said–_

 _Alrighty then! Wish me luck!_

 _Praetor, there is no reason to depart from this conversation. You could very easily apologize while continuing to explain in excruciating detail what you just meant when you said–_

 _Nope! I'm a one-track mind kind of guy. Multitasking is something I'm only good at when it's with my hands not with my head. Plus, I need you to serve as a translator. How else am I supposed to know what she's saying?_

 _Praetor? I hope in the foreseeable future you show more 'dere' and less 'tsun'._

 _Only if you start acting less like a himedere._

 _A 'himedere'? Praetor, it is unfair to call me such a thing. At best you could argue I behave like a kamidere but even that would be stretching._

 _What in the hell is a 'kamidere'? Why do you know all of this?_

 _As I said, Rin and I had an interesting conversation. Mostly about Japanese norms, culture, and the more scenic places in this country that I should prioritize visiting. I feel I have a well-rounded grasp on how to begin capturing the hearts and minds of these–_

 _Going to stop you there. Just ... translate, por favor._

 _That means 'please', Praetor._

 _No, I mean actually help me apologize if you want me to do it. Or else I'm going to leave, head to the nearest bar, and drown my sorrows in a glass of–_

 _Let us not get too hasty, Praetor._

 _Great, now tell her this–_

One obligatory apology later (I'll spare you the details, just know that I'm fairly certain Nero spruced up my words before dishing them out) and we've finally made some headway. Am I still mostly deaf? Yup. Are my clothes (as well as Nero's) still trashed? Yup. But hey, Sakura over there doesn't look like she's going to cry anymore and Rin's gone so that's two big pluses in my book. Do they outweigh not being able to hear? No. No, they do not. But I'm trying my best to be a 'glass half-full' kinda guy until this is taken care of. How am I going to fix this? Beats me. I could probably solder together some kind of makeshift hearing aid given enough time and experimentation, but circuitry isn't exactly my area of expertise. Neither is the inner ear. Or healing Magecraft. Or social skills. I'm beginning to understand that I might be a little out of my depth in this War.

 **THIS IS A LINE BREAK BECAUSE FOR SOME REASON THE ACTUAL LINE BREAK WASN'T FORMATTING CORRECTLY HERE**

* * *

"Thanks again (for nothing). I'm sure Rin will be back eventually (probably not)."

 _Praetor, she said "You're very welcome. Come back if you ever need anything."_

Now I find myself waving goodbye to this failure of a medic known as Sakura. I didn't get a chance to 'hire' that homeless guy. He's run off somewhere and I doubt I'll ever see him again. He'll forever have my gratitude though for his simple act of slam-dunking Rin into a garbage truck.

I'm not going to beat around the bush too much here. There's no way in hell I'll be coming back to this place if I can help it. Sure, Sakura made a mean cup of Joe. Sure, she was an incredibly polite and kindhearted soul. But that doesn't change the fact that she did jack diddly for my hearing. Nor does it change the fact that she's connected to Rin in some manner. Furthermore–

Wait … 'Sakura'…. Wasn't the Matou representative supposedly named 'Sakura'?! The girl that I was supposed to have confronted instead of that little punk?! But … no, she looks nothing like the description Kaz gave me. She's shapely, and definitely busty, but she doesn't have purple hair and she's much older than the mage I was supposed to have encountered. Granted, Kaz did screw up regardless. He didn't mention anything about a snot-nosed brat being a Master. I'm going to let that mistake slide though. Had I confronted a more competent Master I would have likely never contracted with Nero. Instead, I would have been sliced and diced into a million little pieces, courtesy of that sword she totes around. Eh, it's probably all some sort of big misunderstanding. I mean, Sakura's a pretty common name around these parts and the Sakura that we just met doesn't look like a Matou to me. Nor does she act like I'd expect one of them too.

That kid on the other hand … yeah, he's a Matou no doubt.

Anyway, Nero and I are now setting out to deal with probably the only problem we now have that I know how to address. The whole 'our clothes being trashed' thing. There's a dry cleaner near where my old house (R.I.P.) was. I'd used them a few times in the past. Mostly to clean the very same jacket that needs to be scrubbed now. You'd think I would have learned by now and just tried to inscribe a trait of 'Cleanliness' on the fabric? It's more difficult than you think. While yes, I'd have an easier time with the inside portion, as it's entirely composed of cotton, the exterior's pure leather, PETA be damned.

For whatever reason, cotton fits inside the overarching composition of the 'Wood' Element. Leather, obviously, doesn't fit into 'Wood' or 'Metal' so I'd have to exert a little bit more energy working with it, but it wasn't impossible. Just not practical. Alteration's fantastic because it's rather straightforward once you know what you're doing. You're just adding properties to an object. I'd imagine it'd be possible of doing the exact same with rune magic, but I'm far from one to use runes (never interested me) so using the more direct (and in some respects, flexible) Alteration branch of Magecraft works better for my purposes.

Making a previously flammable piece of linen fireproof just by transitioning it from 'Flammable' to 'Retardant' is a lot easier than turning a fire extinguisher into a flamethrower. At first, that doesn't make sense. The basic structure of Alteration is that it targets the inherent base properties of an object (usually an object, but I've heard of some of the loonies out there trying to use it on humans) and supplements one thing for another. Something has to be taken away in order for a new trait to be added. For instance, when turning a soda can into a grenade the first thing I do is swap out the 'Malleable' component of aluminum to the 'Rigid' one of steel. Both are related to the structure of the object, and both are physical in nature so it's easy enough to swap one for another.

In trying to transition a fire extinguisher to a flamethrower you have to first understand the main focus should be in altering the composition of the chemical concoction in the extinguisher. It'd be easy enough to change the container into a facsimile of a flamethrower's fuel tank but to actually make it emit fire the chemicals contained within would have to be changed. And that's more or less a role better suited to Transmutation. Sure, it could theoretically be done, but why would you start a fire with sticks when you have lighter fluid nearby?

This applies to changing the appearance of clothes simply because I can't really use Alteration to change the momentary conditions of an object. Color is one thing, but dirtiness is just a temporary state of existence, it's not an inherent base component of something's being. No one creates clothing with the intent that it should be dirty at all times. If they did I could easily change that into 'Cleanliness' without much thought. But for treating something that's just been rendered filthy from a roll in the mud it'd be a complete waste.

I'd have to first pick one trait (probably something related to the physical appearance of the jacket, like it's color, or it's material) and change that into 'Dirtiness'. Then, from there I could change that 'Dirtiness' to 'Cleanliness'. Changing it to 'Cleanliness' prior to it being 'Dirtiness' would just make the fabric spotless underneath the coat of grime currently covering it. Which would be pointless. And going so far as to alter it twice would be even more pointless when I can just go to a laundromat and have them do it for zero prana and only a few hundred yen.

"Understood?" I've gone into far too much detail. Nero had just asked out of curiosity why I couldn't clean my own clothes. Instead of just saying "Alteration doesn't work that way" I rambled along for a good ten minutes. We're almost to that aforementioned laundromat by now. Pesci, I would have been a wonderful politician. Or a college professor. Talking so much and saying so very little.

"Mmm … I believe so, Praetor. However, when I asked my question I was referring to the fact that you could just as easily clean your own clothes at home instead of tracking down a cleaner."

… Oh. Well, way to waste my time then. "Don't know how." And with a nonchalant shrug, I've given her probably the most worthless answer possible.

"How to what, Praetor?"

"Clean my clothes. I used to have Kiara do it before she moved out."

It's a pitiful thing to admit. That I once used child labor to keep my wardrobe in shape. But, at least I didn't put her to work out in the fields or something. And I gave her food, water, y'know all the necessities. And she had been the one to offer the help so who was I to get in her way? Besides, kids nowadays get away with too much. Back in the good old days they used to work in coal mines. Now, I didn't have Kiara work in a coal mine, but I think doing the laundry worked just as well at teaching her personal responsibility and– Who the hell am I kidding with this?

"This explains so much." There's an underlying tone of seriousness in that which I'm entirely convinced is not a good thing.

"Excuse me? What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Ahem, Praetor, there are some things you should be able to do for yourself. Men should be reliable after all."

"Reliable?" Am I the only one that thinks it a bit ironic a failed tyrant is saying this?

"Yes, Praetor. There are some things my pride will not permit me to aid you in. Cooking is one thing, but this, this is indecent."

'Indecent'? She's lecturing me on decency?

"I mean, you're not exactly one to talk. At any time you could fix your dress and yet you insist on keeping it messed up just to have an excuse to buy modern clothes."

"Praetor, you were the one to offer!"

"Yeah, but it's not like you couldn't just repair what you're wearing now and still get a different outfit? I didn't think it possible for you to show more flesh, but yet again you prove me wrong."

"Praetor, did I not say we were equals when we first met?"

I suppose she did, but I have no idea whatsoever as to how that's related to what we're currently talking about. "You did. How does that apply here?"

She looks at me as if I'm stupid. How am I the stupid one when she's the one not making any goddamn–?! "Praetor, if I were to mend my clothes while yours were in tatters our relationship would appear to be that of a peasant and his princess and not two partners."

A pang of … something hits me in the chest. It's probably heartburn or some various medical ailment signaling my future demise but … who does this chick think she is? I flick her in the forehead. Not hard, no I don't think even I could bear to be so cruel, but I still do so with enough force to get her attention. "Stop overthinking things. I don't care how others see me. I mean, my house (the one you burned down) was a massive eyesore in the community and that didn't stop me from living there in peace (until you torched the place for no reason)."

We continue to walk in silence. Dull, grating silence. I can't bare it. "Besides, I don't think anyone would take you for a 'princess' with that dress. A prostitute maybe but–" My attempt at comedic relief is cut short by a soft jab to my ribs. "Alright maybe I deserved–"

"Praetor, I wish I could believe you." We've stopped once more and now, to make matters worse, she's not looking me in the eye. "But everyone worries how others see them. Even complete strangers." Were this not a mental conversation I probably wouldn't even be able of comprehending what she was saying. That's how quiet it is. I'm partially inclined to believe this isn't something I was meant to hear and is instead her thinking aloud to herself. "Those who pretend they do not end up being the loneliest amongst us." I mean … maybe? I don't know if that's something you can conclude so easily. There's a million other ways to create a feeling of isolation and none of them have anything to do with being thick-skinned. "We can only find disappointment from the mistruths we tell ourselves, because all lies will inevitably be shown for what they are. False."

"Ok, Edgar Allan Poe, cut it out with the edge or I'm going to have to take away that gigantic butcher blade of yours before you do something drastic."

"Which is why–!" She completely ignores my remark. Thankfully. I don't know how I would have reacted had she seriously replied to it. "–we should only be truthful about who we are!"

I flick her in the head again. "Shuddup."

"The voice of truth can never be silenced, Praetor. This is what you must hear!" Can't really do the whole 'hearing' thing, now can I? "Come to me with any of your misgivings and I will welcome you with open arms! There is no need to lie for I am–"

"Hey, Miss Armchair Psychologist? Did it ever occur to you that you're reading way too much into this?"

"Not at all, Praetor! It is only natural for us to find solace in the praise we receive from others. That is why the adoration bestowed upon me by my people was so important. We all yearn for the same."

"No, I think that'd get old real quick. How am I supposed to sleep when people are constantly cheering for me?"

"You miss the point, Praetor. Being recognized for our successes is what brings us happiness. When we are scorned because of our failures we feel defeated. This is the instinctual reaction of man, and those of us that pretend not to feel it will only find themselves lost when they realize they have been lying to themselves." She nods as if she's said something profound. "Do not let yourself fall into this trap, Praetor. Rely on the support of others or else you will fall. Alone, and without anyone to pick you up."

There's a few things I don't think I ever expected to happen to me. Becoming possessed by the ghost of Duke Ellington was on the top of that list (don't ask) before it was replaced by "fighting a gigantic moth creature that shot laser beams from its eyes". Underneath that impossibility would probably have been 'receiving self-help advice from a genderbent Roman emperor' had I the imagination to concoct such an idea. And yet here I am.

"This is alright and dandy, but can you please, for the love of Pesci, explain to me what this has to do with me not caring that people think I look like a slob when I walk around in filthy clothes?"

"Why that is simple, Praetor." The hands are on the hips so this is probably going to be good. "You are lying to yourself. You do care how others see your appearance. If you did not why would you have bothered changing to begin with?"

"Isn't that just something you do? I'm not saying I just wear the same pair of underwear for three weeks or something. I'm just saying it's not too out of the realm of possibility for me to not care if others scoff at me wearing a dirty and bloody jacket. The how it got dirty and bloody is more important, is it not?"

"I can concede that point, but I still hold firm in the belief that you are lying to yourself when you say you don't care."

"Is there any reason this matters? So what if I'm lying? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because, Praetor … I lied to myself when I pretended the change in how my public perceived me did not affect me and … it made the betrayal even worse."

Ah, so she's projecting her insecurities upon me? Oh wow, I worded that so it sounded completely heartless. Ahem, she's trying to understand how I'm feeling by rationalizing my responses based on her experiences and how she'd feel. There. In short, she's trying and failing spectacularly to empathize with me.

That's sweet of her. But not too important right now. I made a half-hearted attempt at assuaging her concern over us not appearing as 'equals' (this is from the girl with an ego as big as the Hindenburg) only for her to be even more concerned by me not being concerned.

Why do the women in my life have to be so complex?

"Here's the difference. I'm not going to care if some random nobody sees me in a negative light. I'm not a king and these city dwellers aren't my subjects so I don't care how they view me. Now, if you considered me to be a peasant that'd probably hurt but that's completely different. Quality vs. quantity, get it?"

"Your argument is that we should care only about those close to us?"

"Yeah, isn't that kinda obvious? How do you see it?"

"Everyone is a citizen of Roma, Praetor. All of these people are my subjects, so I should pride myself on gaining their favor."

What backwater logic is this? "You think Japanese people are Romans?" So is ramen just spaghetti without the marinara sauce?

She rolls her eyes. "Not by blood, but by virtue of being civilized. Civilization itself is a product of Roma, and all those that retain a society are therefore too products of the very same Roma."

That is probably the most grossly oversimplified statement I've ever heard in my life. "I don't know if it applies directly here, but I feel this is a 'correlation vs. causation' thing. I'm just going to say that one: by making your pool of 'subjects' so broad you're literally placing the weight of the world on your shoulders, and two: none of these people are my 'subjects' so I give fuck all how they feel about me."

"But you are my Praetor, are you not?"

"Yeah. I'm **your** Praetor, ya dunce. I'm not the Praetor of Mr. Sakamoto down the street that gave me the evil eye every day when I went out to get my mail."

Awe. Awe is the reaction I receive and definitely not the one I expected. What did she think I was actually auditioning for a government position in her new Roman Empire?

"Hopefully that point gets through your thick skull, otherwise I'm going to just have to repeat it verbatim infinitely until it does. We're partners, got it? As long as your opinion of me is positive the rest of the world doesn't matter."

A massive smile blossoms on her lips, and for some reason her cheeks are tinted a modest shade of red. "Praetor … I would never have thought you to be the one to say such embarrassing things in public …."

Embarrassing? What's embarrassing about me saying something so blatantly truthful? I'm her Master (damn that word) and she's my Servant. We're in a War in which our fates are intertwined. Who the hell has time to care about keeping up appearances in public with such pressure? Empathy comes in limited quantities and I can only extend it to so many people before the process drains me. I don't want to rule the world like she does (apparently). I just want to help out this city so it doesn't get blasted off the face of Earth by unforeseen powers. It doesn't matter if the people of this city like me, all that matters is that at the end of this I can walk away feeling like I did something good in the world.

My goal in all of this isn't even selfless, if anything it's pure selfishness and pride that's keeping me alive. I have to do one good deed. Just one. Ideally, well, more like originally, this was saving Fuyuki from the very real possibility that this War's victor could have malicious intent. Now, with Nero's existence there's a few other options available to me. None of them involve me caring about if Joe Schmoe at the sushi stand likes the color of sneakers I sport.

I just need to … wait. I'm starting to realize something …. She took my words in a completely out of context manner, didn't she?

"Hold up. Stop the blushing. Nothing I said was remotely embarrassing and this is most definitely not me displaying indecent levels of public affection." Damage control. Damage control is what I'm currently attempting. It's a lost cause though. I might as well be one of the engineers trying to stop the reactor at Chernobyl from blowing.

I receive a soft pat on my head in response. "There, there, Praetor. No need to shame yourself by lying."

She's standing on her tippy toes to do this. Her tippy toes. And she's already wearing those weird high heels. This is probably the most demeaning experience I've gone through in my– no wait. I've had worse done to me. Many times. Mostly at the hands of Kiara, but occasionally because of some insane scheme Taiga came up with. Or Kaz. And there was that phone call from that Tohsaka woman that one time …. I'm not getting into details on that.

"Woman. You are an Emperor, are you not? Have some dignity and trust me when I say you're reading far too much into–!"

"Praetor?" She stops patting me. "In the past, you insisted on participating in battle by my side. I (begrudgingly) agreed. But I ask of you to trust in my talent and not needlessly endanger your life for my sake going forward."

Woah, talk about an abrupt shift in topics. "What?"

She folds her arms over her chest. This entire conversation that perpetually enthusiastic attitude she adopts has been severely subdued and this change in stance reflects upon that greatly. Normally her crossing her arms would signal she's deep in thought and would be her attempt at displaying her gung-ho nature with a posture meant to convey unyielding confidence. You see, most think of those that cross their body parts (typically their arms or legs, I've never seen someone cross their ears or fingers) as being passive. The posture is usually seen as being a defensive one and for good reason. Most who do cross their arms are doing so to subconsciously cover a part of themselves from the person they're conversing with. But there are some who, in doing this, are trying to show a stance comparable to that of an unmoving rock. In adopting a defensive appearance they attempt to assure their compatriot that they are reliable.

Normally, Nero would be of the latter camp. Now though? She's of the former. And those crossed arms are signaling exactly that. Along with the slight inclination of her shoulders that's normally not present.

"In our last fight, you believed me to be in danger and acted accordingly. However, while I am grateful for your concern it doesn't change the fact that you underestimated my skill and harmed yourself in doing so."

She nods. Twice. As if assuring herself that this is the right path to take. "You have put me in a predicament, Praetor. I feel guilty that your attempt at helping me caused you harm and yet upset that you felt the need to interfere. It indicates you lack confidence in me."

"Well duh," I reply without thinking things through. A terrible fault of mine. Diarrhea of the mouth leads to all kinds of trouble. "It's nothing personal against you, I just lack confidence in the stability of life. I'd rather risk myself to potentially save you even if in hindsight it was a mistake."

She sighs. "Praetor, I trust you and you need to do the same. Any hesitation, any mistakes can end up costing you your life."

"Better me than you."

Once again she's taken aback. But this time it's for all the wrong reasons. "Praetor, what do you mean by–?"

"Let's not get into that." I cut her off before this can go any further. I've had this very same conversation with Kaz and Kiara so there's no need in reiterating points I've already made. "I trust you. I do. But life's fickle, and battle is a thing of chance. If I can shift the odds I'll take any risk required of me."

"You do not need to risk yourself for me, Praetor. I am your sword, after all."

"Nah, you're my partner. We're just two peas in a pod."

Her eyes widen. "You are saying we are like soulmates?"

Oh fuck. Abort! Abort! "Y-y-you misinterpreted that. I'm trying to say that if you get killed I'm probably going to die too considering–!"

She's grinning! Stop that!

"Considering that we're in a War and without you I'm going to get curb stomped by some overpowered fantasy hero looking sonofabitch! So, what I'm getting at is–!"

"There, there, Praetor!" Stop it with the head pats! That was my shtick! "I understand completely." Really? That's wonderful! I thought for a moment there that my goose was– "You are just shy."

My mouth drops. I can't control the movement of my own jaw. "What?!"

"Normally, I would find such bashfulness irritating. Men should be forward with their intentions, after all." Where the hell are you going with this you–!

"Lady, you're like several thousand years too old for me, ok!"

She wraps an arm around my shoulder, drawing me in closer. Like a spider that's caught a fly upon its web. "Rin shared with me a wise piece of advice that she assured me was well accepted in modernity." That bitch! "Age is just a number, is it not?"

How is anyone supposed to respond to that? How can anyone even try to respond to that?! I do so with as straight a face as I can muster. "You're fucking with me, right? If you're not I'm going to banish you with Kiara in the Shadow Realm."

"Yes, Praetor, I am 'kidding' as you would say."

"Oh thank Pesci." A drop of sweat falls from my brow out of relief.

"From what Rin told me–" Really regretting not making sure that trash compactor I tossed her in had a dianoga in it! "the Grail summons a Heroic Spirit at the point in their life in which they were in their prime. So in reality, I am much younger than you."

Wait, what does she mean by that? "Just curious, but how old do you think I am?"

Her eyes dance across my features, likely trying to establish as accurate of a guess as possible. "I would estimate that you are in your late thirties, perhaps early forties?"

My pride has been unequivocally shattered. "Please. Please tell me this is just an elaborate attempt at getting me to agree with your initial guess on my mental state."

She blinks. As if shocked by my negative reaction. "I know not of what you mean, Praetor? Is that not an accurate guess as to how old you–?"

"BY THE POWER OF MY COMMAND SPELL I COMPEL YOU TO–!"

"Praetor, that is not necessary you are right I was just attempting to force you to compromise on your stubborn insistence that–!"

"Ok, great. Glad we cleared that up." I start walking away, far too tired for how little I've accomplished. "You win, let's go get some new clothes now. We've had like three debates in the past twenty-four hours and I think my brain will explode if we have another one."

"You get migraines too, Praetor?" She seems genuinely curious about this.

"Only when you're around." I pause in consideration. "Scratch that, only when I'm dealing with you, Kiara, Taiga, Kaz, Rin, most of the guys I've hired, the chief of police, this one dude that thinks I owe him money because I demolished his cabbage cart, my middle school math teacher Ms. Brown, and–"

"My condolences, Praetor. You must have a headache constantly."

"Well, someone once said to me 'through suffering we find strength' so that might apply here. Let's just keep walking though."

And we do as such until ….

"So, does this mean you will trust me more in battle?"

"Sure."

"And do you concede that you do care how others view you?"

"Yeah, fine, whatever. But the opinion of people I care about obviously matters more."

"You care about me, Praetor?"

"If I didn't I would have ordered you to commit suicide after that comment on my age."

"I am touched."

"Staaahhhppp. Not in that way."

"In what way, Praetor?"

"Just get back to listing off stuff I'm supposed to 'concede' on."

"You're blushing, Praetor."

"It's hot out here and I'm wearing a long-sleeved jacket."

"Will you rely on my more now?"

"Sure."

"And will you try to stop lying to yourself?"

"That's a lot to ask and I don't even think I would even be able of seeing if I was lying to myself but sure, I'll give it a shot. You have to do the same though."

"Hmm?"

"Stop trying to pretend the fate of the world rests on your shoulders. That's a burden no one should have to handle. If you're going to be an emperor be an emperor. Not a slave."

The chirping of cicadas is the only answer I receive. Strange, I didn't think it was their mating season this time of year?

"Oh, and don't hold your combat prowess in such high regard when you almost got slaughtered by that old due in the plate mail."

"… Was it necessary to bring that up, Praetor?"

"Yup. If you're going to squash my pride I need to return the favor when I can. I'm your advisor, am I not?"

She sighs. "I suppose that is correct, just please try to be gentle."

"Bwahahaha!"

"Why are you laughing?"

"No reason. Let's just get this errand taken care of so we can head home."

….

"Praetor? What about Rin?"

"Who?"

"Rin, Praetor."

"Who's that?"

"… Never mind. I am sure she will understand."

"Don't know who you're talking about but I just wanted to say I really hope The Trash Man didn't pick up the garbage from the butcher yet. That'd be a shame."

"Praetor, you are being cruel."

"You're one to speak."

"That may be, but it still is unwise to antagonize a potential ally for no reason."

"I have many, many reasons. And she's not someone I would ever think of as an 'ally'."

"Really, Praetor? I think that is a shame."

"How come? Oh, wait, let me guess? She's an attractive young woman."

Nero shakes her head, a small smirk playing at the edges of her lips. "There is that, but no, Praetor. I am referring to the fact that she had undeniably a wealth of information on our opponents in this War."

That takes me aback. "What? She actually said that?"

She wags a finger at me. "No. She did better. She proved it."

I can't help but raise an eyebrow. This changes things. Not to a considerable degree, but just enough that I might rethink my judgment of Rin. Now, instead of tossing her to the trash I might need to interrogate her on a few things. Her knowledge about the War alone is suspicious. Granted, every mage worth their worth should know about this and I did already assume she knew but hearing it confirmed as being true causes me to think.

Why would a mage be in Fuyuki now, during the War, when they know about the War? I could have given her the benefit of the doubt had it turned out she, somehow, had no idea the War existed. However, if she knows, Occam's Razor suggests she's here to participate in it to some extent. Which means I should trust her even less. But if she does have useful information like Nero suggests ….

"How did she prove it?"

Cue the hands on hips, pushed out chest, yada yada yada. She's gone into what I'm going to coin as the "Emperor's Stance". "She was brief on the matter, but she did bring up the Harwey family you mentioned having two Masters within it."

"Two Masters?" Kaz did mention two of them recently arriving in Fuyuki ... Well, I suppose it's Leo and Julius. Otherwise known colloquially by many as "the blonde faggot and his emo brother" (and by many I mean Kaz). The head of the whole Harwey family and the head of their security detail. None of the other members fit the bill for this type of thing. Too extravagant, gluttonous, frivolous, etc. Most of them act exactly as you'd expect from people that inherited immeasurable wealth. Leo though. He bought the bullshit his granddad spouted. And Julius … he's too "useful" for them not to give him a Master slot if possible.

"Praetor … your knees …?"

They're shaking. As are my hands. But that could just be because I've been without alcohol for more than twenty-four hours. The knees though …. I'm scared. That's the only thing it could be. I'm terrified at the thought of going against one Harwey. Two of them? And when Julius is all but confirmed as being one of that duo? The guy that leads one of the world's most elite counter-terrorist organizations (the most elite private one) and somehow is more brutal than the terrorists he brings in? Yeah. He brings them in more often then he kills them. Back when I was dealing with Hack & … forget it. Those chumps are nothing compared to his average bounty. This is the guy that can singlehandedly take down a Chechen cell without even being noticed. Spetsnaz can't even do that!

"Shit." Which Servant is his? It can't have been any we've come across so far. If it had been he would have involved himself in the battle in some way. Sort of like how I do, except probably more effectively. Leo would personally greet an opponent before a fight. I know that for sure. Guy loves the spotlight.

"Dammit, why can't anything be easy?"

A comforting hand grips my shoulder. "Praetor." Nero's voice rouses me from my thoughts. I look deep into the emerald pools that are her pupils. "There is no need to fear. No matter the foe, I shall stand by your side."

I blink, and it's like all that tension that'd built up within me just dissipates. Gone without any forewarning.

I still flick her in the forehead.

"Praetor?!"

"Jeez, stop being so serious all of a sudden. You're starting to creep me out." I slip outside of her grasp, using a carefree stretch to make the movement look casual. "I must be a really pitiful guy to need pep talks from you of all people."

Tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes, and once again I'm greeted by the dreaded– "Umu … what do you mean by "you of all people", Praetor?"

Nothing can stop the sigh from coming out. Just as the mandatory pinching of the bridge of my nose can't be averted. "Don't take it the wrong way. Let's … let's just go shopping, alright? You need clothes, right?"

And just like that, she straightens up. "Yes, but you are in much more dire need for a change in wardrobe."

"Yeah. Ok. And?"

She grins, and just like that I've known I've made a mistake. "Of course, as your Emperor, I will be more than happy to assist you in properly building your trousseau."

If only I didn't know what that word meant. "I'm not a bride. Nor am I a woman. And you should really try and avoid using French."

"I find the word is appropriate for your condition." That's scary. "And why should I not speak in the tongue of the French? Are they not just descendants of great Roma?"

"Cette langue que je n'aime pas."

She makes a funny face at my terrible pronunciation and broken grammar. "You … do not like their language?"

"Mainly because I'm awful at it. Spanish was way easier to figure out."

"I did not realize you were bilingual?"

"Out of necessity, not desire. When I first started out I couldn't exactly afford to hire a translator to pal around with me. Magecraft could have solved this but the guy that taught me was kind of lackluster in going over the basics."

"I gathered as much from your inability to use more than minor healing spells."

"Yeah, well enough about me and my inferiority. Let's see if we can find something less trashy to wear and then how about we stop by this dry cleaner I know to see if I can salvage my jacket?"

She pounds a balled-up fist into her other palm. "Not the exact wording I would use but perfectly agreeable nonetheless! I do hope the fashion of this era does not disappoint!" Ah. She's pumped. Lovely.

"Please just don't go overboard. I don't think I can recover from a second bankruptcy."

There's a fire in her eyes. Not good. Definitely not good. "I make no promises, Praetor! If something catches my fancy can you fault me for wishing to claim it?"

"Yes," I reply without missing a beat. "That's called controlling your impulses."

She starts laughing. As if such a thing is a joke. "Nonsense, Praetor! Allowing your impulses to run wild can be a most euphoric experience. You should try it some–!"

"No."

"Then let us be off!" She bounces back without a single pause, grabbing ahold of my hand and dragging me behind her in much the same manner an impatient pet owner would pull along a leashed dog digging its heels into the ground. Pesci, my credit score's going to plummet after this.

* * *

"They've mobilized." Far above the crowd, on the top floor of Fuyuki's second tallest building, stood a single man. A black fur coat embraced most of his torso. It's collar reached up to his nose, concealing most of his face from anyone not looking directly at him. Here he stood alone, overlooking the cityscape below. With eyes too perfect to be human, he observed his targets from several miles away. Only a Servant could do the same with unaided eyes, though it'd be too much to call this man's sight "unaided".

"To where?"

"… It would seem they are going… shopping. The direction they are heading to leads directly to this city's market district." To the outside viewer it would appear he was talking to himself, but in all actuality, he was speaking to the practically invisible earpiece nuzzled inside his inner ear.

"Did you hear anything?"

"Yes, they were quite loud for some reason. It could be said that they were … screaming at one another. I picked up on most of their conversation with relative ease." His tone was completely monotone. Which was to be expected considering his professional nature.

"That's great to hear! I'm proud of you, brother!" The praise very nearly had no effect upon him. Only the faintest hint of a blush blossomed on his cheeks, showing that even this machine of a man could feel some vague sense of embarrassment when called for.

"It is nothing. I'll debrief you on their conversation once I return. But it looks like they won't be our biggest concern."

"Oh? Why's that?" The voice on the other end sounded genuinely curious, perking up even more at the mention of a new challenge they needed to face.

"There is this girl. Surname of Emiya. I find her to be … troubling."

"Emiya … Emiya … oh. **That** Emiya?"

"Presumably. She recently purchased the former residence of one Rin Tohsaka as well."

"Yes … this does sound "troubling"."

The man on the rooftop nodded, despite knowing full well that his listener couldn't see him. "There is also the matter of the other Servants. I had Assassin engage the familiar, as you wished."

"Ah. The behemoth. How did that go?"

"Not well. Assassin was unscathed but so was the beast. It seems to have a level of invulnerability to it."

"Hmm … we've confirmed it's not a Heroic Spirit though, correct?"

"Without a doubt. The prana signature it emits is completely different."

A frustrated sigh comes across the line. "Then it's likely the work of this War's Caster. I'll have Rani look into it more closely. She's good with these sorts of things."

"What do you wish for me to do now, Milord?"

An answer doesn't come.

"Milord?"

"Oh, sorry. Gawain was just handing me lunch."

"Milord …."

"Julius, it would have been impolite to shoo him away. Besides, I am a bit peckish."

An obnoxious munching noise sounds off and continues for a frustratingly long period of time. During this period our rooftop visitor can do nothing but wordlessly tap the tips of his fingers against the balcony railing. Commenting on the matter would be meaningless.

With a satisfied belch, the conversation begins anew. "Oh, pardon me! Gawain is a marvelous chef as always. In case you were wondering."

'Julius' was wondering nothing of the sort. The only thing he was curious about was how his brother's manners had taken such a steep decline in such a short period of time. The frequent 'tours' he'd gone on throughout the city seemed to have affected him quite negatively. Fraternizing with the common riff-raff had at first seemed like a good idea. It removed the mystique surrounding the Harwey head and made him appear more down-to-earth. Which was a plus when working on publicity. It's rare for a superstar to walk at the level of the 'commoners', and those that do end up easily winning the affection of the public.

At least, that was the initial excuse for why such a thing had been allowed. Julius had been against it for multiple reasons. The first being the damage it did to his younger half brother's civility. The second being the obvious threat of assassination attempts. But Leo had ignored such protests. He wished to be a modern-day Julius Caesar. Just without the whole 'getting stabbed in the back' bit. He also clearly enjoyed being praised constantly by a gaggle of groupies. Groupies that he'd only be able to encounter outside of his massive penthouse. Which was why he'd been adamant such a thing was necessary, using as many justifications as necessary until he got his way. This was the consequence of his actions. A consequence partially exacerbated by the yes-men natures of Gawain and Julius themselves.

But this was a subject for another day. Something that Julius would have to build up the courage to comment on. For now, he would zoom in on yet another bad habit his brother had picked recently. "I hope he at least gave you more than mashed potatoes."

"Tsk. I'll have you know I greatly enjoy the dish. There is a reason the commoners enjoy it."

"The cost to carb ratio might have something to do with it."

"Be that as it may, a proper king should not hold himself above those he rules. He should dine with them as if they were his family." Which was why the individual spouting this line was currently eating on the 182nd floor of a multi-million-dollar skyscraper.

"Of course."

"Anyway …." The voice spoke in a tone that clearly indicated it wished to drop the topic of potatoes. "Let's address the other matter that needs to be dealt with. The so-called "gang violence" that's been rampant throughout Fuyuki."

"Victors just recently reignited the old trade deal he had with the Fujimura clan. But I take it that's not what you're getting at?"

"You're as insightful as always. I'm speaking in reference to the massacres that no one seems to be doing anything about."

Ah. Those. They were a messy business. Something that had started not-so-coincidentally in the weeks leading up to the War and had been continuing on strong even as all but the last Servant was summoned. "It's obviously connected to the Holy Grail."

"Of course. It's likely a Servant at work here. Or maybe a Master with a "hands-on" approach to things? Either way, it's gruesome work and I simply cannot tolerate such savagery."

"I can investigate it too if you wish?"

"Hmm … I believe that would be for the best. Do you think you can find them?"

"They've left a multitude of clues behind in each of their crime scenes. Their tendency to partially cannibalize the victims is particularly insightful."

"I … fail to see anything 'insightful' about that." Nervous laughter resounds over the connection. "But, if you can find them, resolving this sooner rather than later would be for the best. Just be sure to do one thing for me, Julius."

"Anything, Milord."

"That agreeable side of you is going to be your own undoing one of these days." An awkward silence begins, brought about mostly by Julius' own inner demons. His 'agreeable' side had already been his undoing. And it had, at least partially, negatively affected Leo. Had Julius the power to choose his own fate (instead of being forced to conform to the whims and requests of others) Leo's mother would have still been among the living.

"I digress. Forgive me, brother." Leo knew nothing of this but still understood the silence had been his doing and apologized under the assumption that he'd offended Julius in some manner.

"There is no need." It takes everything within him to reply in an even tone. The man whose blood might as well be made of ice water is struggling to keep his cool as the memories of his past sins threaten to overwhelm him.

"No, no. There is. It takes a wise man to admit when he's at fault." He receives no response to this and, expecting this to be the case, continues speaking. "Now, as for that one request, I merely wish for you to return to me in one piece. It would distress me greatly if I had to have you rebuilt twice in one lifetime."

That comment brought with it a flurry of images from the past. Images that Julius pushed from the forefront of his thoughts as he replied. "There is no need to worry. I have Assassin after all."

"That is precisely why I worry. He's no Saber, after all. Just be careful, Julius."

There's no need to respond, and so Julius doesn't. He silences the call without any semblance of a farewell. Such things are a waste to him. A mission had been given, one that had no ambiguity involved (unlike the request for him to keep tabs on certain players in this War). A target was in his sights, and while at the moment he didn't even know it's silhouette in time he would know everything about his prey. For Julius was a hunter and a very skilled one at that. And unlike most, he specialized in tracking man and not beast. The most dangerous of game was his preferred quarry. When the time came he would prevail. Leo had asked this much of him, and Julius did not intend to let his little brother down.

* * *

 **AN: Well, there we have it! Hopefully this chapter wasn't too boring. Not much really happened (as far as action goes) and it kind of ended the same way it started. With Dante still being partially deaf. Oh, and Rin's taken a temporary leave of absence. We've also met Sakura, who may or may not be who you think she is! Next chapter will be more slice of life style shenanigans with Dante and Nero going "shopping" (pillaging). Anyway, I should probably give an explanation for why this chapter took so long... well, it's mainly because I rushed Rin's entrance into the plot. Big time. That really messed up my idea of how the rest of the story would go down. I thought bringing her in earlier would add some sense of progression to the story as a whole (because let's be real here, nobody wants to read a dozen chapters of build up) but I can't help but feel rushing it made her arrival somewhat anticlimactic and jarring. So we get an even more jarring Vaudeville hook wrenching her off-screen. She'll come back of course (with a bang), but for this chapter at least it felt better to chuck her aside. Mainly because I tried to roll with her being involved and it was terrible. How terrible? Three rewrites terrible. Yeah, who would have thought writing an entire chapter where Nero does nothing but relay Rin and Sakura's words back to Dante would be awful? I should've. Goes to show you that when writing something you should do two things. First, have a concrete outline of where the plot's going (not just a vague idea of how things'll go). Second, stick to the plan!**

 **Now that my writing tip for the day is done, let's move onto those reviews!**

 **King0fP0wers: Happy New Years to you too, man! And Merry Christmas as well! I am more than a little late though lol.**

 **Diarmuid-Guest: I was under the impression that Strange Fake was not so much a continuation of Stay Night but a spiritual successor of sorts. It references elements of Stay Night but isn't exactly a direct sequel. I might be wrong though considering Waver's in the story and I believe he references Iskander at one point (though apparently he also summoned him in the Apocrypha timeline). Then there's also that weird situation with Maiya's son... Anywho, regardless of all that I wasn't really intending to link Strange Fake and Apocrypha any more than I've linked Stay Night and Extra in Schizoid Man. Mainly because I haven't read all of Strange Fake (if anyone could direct me to an English translation of it I'd be eternally grateful) but also because I just want to use it's setting (America and the American Association) as a background for how Dante would be able of getting involved with the Greater Holy Grail War. The Dante of that story (as well as the Zero one) will not be exactly the same as the Dante you're reading about now. Personality wise he will, but as far as his backstory goes? Yeah, that's going to be changed. More so in the Apocrypha version. And as far as Nero surviving... to be completely honest that depends on whether or not I intend for there to be a direct sequel to Schizoid Man and not just an AU spinoff (let that sink in, an AU of an AU). I'd have to come up with a pretty good explanation for how she'd be capable of existing without the Grail though and so far nothing's come to mind with how I'm thinking the story's going to go.**

 **Guest: Well... him summoning a Caster does sound cool but it'd probably be after Atalanta and Diarmuid. Gilles and Prelati are outright out as candidates. It hasn't been exactly flushed out but one of Dante's few moral rules is "no killing kids". He's also got a totem pole (that's how I'd describe it) of the three types of people he hates the most. In order of least worse to most worse it'd be: slavers/human traffickers, rapists, and child molesters. Yeah, this guy has a bigger bone to pick with Jared Fogle than Osama Bin Laden. Let that sink in. (That's the one thing I saw to link him and Atalanta by the way.) Dumas and Medea would both be boons for him in combat. As would Shakespeare and someone like Hans (now that is a partnership that would be interesting to write). Xuanzang, Nitocris, and Thomas Edison are also a few I'd imagine could be fun. As would Caster Nero. Though... I'd probably lean more towards him summoning Tamamo. Either in some sort of omake/one-shot or else (if I'm really ambitious years down the line) in an actual Fate Extra story set in the Moon Cell Grail War. And as far as Diarmuid goes, well, Dante's going to be a direct contradiction to him. At one point he's going to insult him for being an idiot with "this chivalry shit" and in the next moment he's going to criticize Diarmuid for being so complacent. It's going to give the guy some serious mental whiplash, and unlike Kaynet (who merely insulted Diarmuid) Dante's going to dig into the guy deeper. Going directly for the throat so to speak. Also unlike Kayneth, Dante's got a strict sense of loyalty about him (that'll be shown more in Schizoid Man) so despite criticizing Diarmuid he'll stick with him through the end. I'm actually planning for Diarmuid to go through some major character development as he understands sometimes it's beneficial to his "lord" to call them out on mistakes they've made and that to be truly loyal he must hold his allies feet to the fire to avoid being abused. In a way Dante's going to be the guy that gives him some self-pride and shows him he's not just a tool.**

 **SMV Aria2: And the award for funniest review of all goes to... lol. As seen in this chapter, I'm a spastic when it comes to line breaks XD but I'll be trying something different to hopefully allow for more scene transitions in the future. There was also a short POV shift this chapter that hopefully sated your needs for some time (translation: until I write the next Nero POV in like two chapters). Oh, and Astolfo... I have many things to say about "her" (cue Admiral Ackbar). Are you suggesting Dante summon Astolfo though? Eh. I'm a little iffy on that. I don't actually mind him as a character but I think it'd be a bit much. It'd have to be in an AU type of story because if it were in Apocrypha Dante would end up screwing with the main plot too much (gallivanting with Jeanne and Seig and whatnot). Despite him being the MC in this story I don't actually think he should be more of a side character in any future stories I have set in Apocrypha, Zero, or whatever. He'll still be the MC (as far as POV goes) but things ideally won't revolve around him as much. Otherwise, he's going to take the spotlight from characters like Arturia, Kiritsugu, Jeanne, and Seig which might piss some people off (rightfully so).**

 **liberty86: Appreciate the kind words! I'm always happy to hear that I'm actually not writing Nero and the others OOC. That's my biggest fear in every chapter. Dante's intended to be unhinged but in a good way. The crazy uncle that beats up the Santa imposter at your local shopping mall when you don't get what you asked for during Christmas kind of way XD.**

 **Darebear the bear: You flatter me with your praise lol. That story was amazing! I'm just wondering when the author's going to update it though, it's been over two years D: In regard to your story suggestions well... I'm a bit booked right now with ideas so I'm not sure I could do anything more than a one-shot XD. Sorry about that. But, once I clean my plate (finish this story, my Monster Musume one, and the Zero and Apocrypha ones) I might be able to come up with something. Writing a non-OC story would be really fantastic! Though, from your suggestions it'd still be kind of an OC fic. Just with "real" characters like Pope Joan (interesting you bring her up while I'm playing through Persona 5 lol). The easiest way of doing this would be to use both your ideas in one go, but I'd be more inclined to have them separate stories. One where Kiritsugu summons someone like Napoleon Bonaparte, Edmond Dantes, Charlemagne, or Jeanne Alter just to name a few. And one where he summons (or perhaps where Risei summons Pope Joan). The identity of the kid Nero and Dante "adopt" is actually way more obvious than any of the characters you've guessed. Hakuno is a hilarious suggestion though (especially with there being a spin-off of Extella involving Tamamo, Altera, and Nero caring for baby M and F Hakunos). One last update on that Kiara idea too. The happy ending is still going to be an omake but her involvement in the actual ending so far has been increased extensively. Previously I was banking on Leo and Gawain being the end bosses but now? Now so much.**

 **Anthem of the Night: Nailed the head on the identity of the nurse! Caren is actually one of my favorite characters personality wise so if I could involve her I would. Sakura just fits this role better in my opinion. I'm also glad you brought up how insane "the washboard" is. We've got like five versions of her in Grand Order and all of them have a varying degree of mental instability to them no matter what class they are lol. The only saving grace is that Carmilla wasn't the version summoned.**

 **TheTrueOverlordBear: I'm hoping my elaboration on how exactly Alteration works this chapter made as much sense as the explanations I've given in past chapters. To be completely honest, I think I bit off more than I could chew trying to elaborate on how Dante functions. The Nasuverse, from what I can tell, uses a hard magic system to explain how Magecraft works. Which is great because it's really in depth but terrible because it's, well, really in depth! There's so much I just don't get about how** **Thaumaturgy works and I'm really concerned that Dante's "powers" don't fit the established system Nasu set up. I don't think he ever directly addressed how something like Transmutation and Alteration work which makes this even more difficult lol. The main thing I hate about Nasu's portrayal of Christianity is the fact that he, frankly, doesn't understand the history behind the religion. From what I can tell Protestantism and the Eastern Orthodox church doesn't exist in the Nasuverse. By doing that he completely shot himself in the foot, intentionally or not. There are so many amazing historical figures that could have been involved in the series that just don't exist or else didn't make the same impact they did in our timeline because Nasu didn't include the various schisms that occurred. I'm not even 100% sure the Thirty Years War occurred in the Nasuverse and that's a major turning point in European history. Not to mention the question as to how America came into existence if the Pilgrims and Puritans hadn't set up colonies in New England. I wish Nasu would have done a bit more research into it all beforehand. Anyway, Liz is a... strange case. She technically had five Masters (not at the same time) in CCC. Rin, Hakuno, Rani, and Shinji. Then Meltlilith (she somehow changed to a Berserker as her Servant).**

 **Gundam-Knight-Christ: I wouldn't exactly call it a cult because I think for it to be a cult you'd need more than one member XD. Just wanted to give you some context on why he randomly shouts out the name of some random actor. And with "her" are you talking about Rin or Liz? I tried to be a little more unique with nicknames for Liz this chapter. Rin will get her own when she returns. Trust me when I say they'll be warranted because you're going to have your question from Chapter 12 answered right then and there.**

 **Anywho, thanks to all of you for sticking with me on this wild ride! I'm flabbergasted by all the favs, follows, and reviews. Seriously, we've almost doubled the numbers of GEGE in all three categories. I could never have hoped for such a thing in my wildest dreams and I'll be forever thankful for all the support you've all shown :D. To think, this goofy OC fic that I still secretly think is kind of ass would actually be enjoyed by others XD. It's humbling to say the least.**

 **I'll leave this off with three questions.**

 **The first being "Do you think I should try to start those Dante spin-offs before Schizoid Man is finished?"**

 **The second being "How would you feel about Dante as a demi-Servant with the Heroic Spirit being Gun God from Notes?" It was suggested by a Guest two chapters ago that Dante fuse with Billy the Kid and at the time I mentioned Doc Holiday as an alternative possibility.**

 **The third being "How are you liking Last Encore so far?" I haven't kept up with at all but I've heard good things at least. Feel free to spoil away lol.**

 **PS: Can't believe I forgot to say this. Big thanks to King Keith and TheTrueOverlordBear for taking the time to look over this chapter before it was uploaded! Be sure to check out their stories too if you have a chance!**


	15. Women

**Disclaimer: I'm once again entirely too late with this update. On the bright side, I graduate from college in a week so that should definitely give me some more free time. Free time that I really need to devote to this story. Anywho, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 15- Women**

Who would have thought something as simple as doing your laundry could be so eventful? It seems like no matter what it is, Nero has a way of making anything more complicated than it needs to be.

For better or worse.

I'm currently wearing a completely different outfit than the one I had on before. Which is understandable considering my clothes are currently spinning around in a washing machine down the street.

We'd visited the laundromat. I'd abruptly stripped down to my underwear without a moment's hesitation. That had caused some … complications. The clerk hadn't been appreciative of my lack of modesty and had threatened to call the police. A lot of talk about "sexual harassment" took place.

Nero, was even less helpful. She took my "display" as a challenge. What kind of challenge? Whatever kind of one that involves stripping; if there is such a thing. Her exact words on the matter were "Praetor, seeing your confidence in your bare form has encouraged me to indulge the eyes of this world further! Praise me for my generosity!" The situation was resolved with a few head pats, a generous tip to the clerk, and by letting Nero have free reign to my credit card.

Many mistakes were made.

Originally, I had done it as a distraction. Give her the card and ask her to get me some clothes replace the ones being washed.

She had the gall to protest. Something about not wanting me to conceal my marvelous splendor now that she'd become privy to its radiance once more. Those weren't her exact words but that's the gist of it. I have no clue as to what she's talking about. The entirety of my body looks like it's been used as a pincushion. Not exactly something to marvel about. Then again, she is Roman. Them and those damn Greeks did have an odd fascination for the naked body.

Anyway, the 'quest' I sent her on ended up being fruitless. Yeah, she did bring me some clothes back but … I'll put this bluntly. The first costume (because it was indeed a costume fit for Halloween) looked to be for some sort of Roman Centurion cosplay. It even had a replica galea (probably made in China). That was vetoed. The second outfit was approved of. However, this was done only out of necessity. I didn't want to send her for another errand run only to waste more time and while it wasn't something I was exactly approving of I could at least tolerate what she'd gotten me.

Because at least I could pretend it wasn't what it really was.

She had me dressed up like a butler.

Or at least, that's what I thought initially. I even had a bowtie and white dress gloves. Both of which I'd tossed into a trash can when she wasn't looking. I already had my own pair of gloves, thank you very much, and I had no clue as to how to put on a bowtie. Nor would I even if I did have a clue.

It wasn't until we'd left the laundromat that I realized exactly what it was she'd gotten me. It wasn't a butler's outfit from some weirdo cosplay joint. She wasn't trying to get me to look like some demonic servant from a homoerotic anime. No, she'd gotten this from a different shop than the one she'd gotten the costume. This was a tuxedo. She'd visited a tuxedo parlor.

"Saber?"

We're now working on fulfilling my promise to let her go shopping. We haven't even entered a shop yet and are instead just parading down the sidewalk as Nero searches for a place "worthy" of her being.

It took her less than five minutes to find a place "worthy" of me but we've been at this for thirty and she's still searching. That's kind of insulting, to be honest.

"Yes, Praetor?" She briefly turns back to look at me, a smile quickly finding its way upon her face.

"Why am I wearing a tux?"

Confusion flashes over her features. "You put it on, Praetor?"

Not what I meant, but ok. "Why did you buy me a tux?"

"I find it to be fitting."

Sure? It does fit me rather well. Speaking of which, how did she manage to discern my exact measurements …. Y'know what? I'm going to just chalk it up to her having an 'artist's eye' (if such a thing exists) and drop it. Some things are better left unknown.

What follows after this brief interaction is something I can only describe as a 'montage'. It all started with the first shop we entered. A shop that we had to backtrack to. Yes, she wasted thirty minutes of my life only to realize the shop she actually wanted to go to was the one she'd been in before.

"Welcome!" A pause, as realization dawns upon the store's clerk's face. "Ah! It's you again!"

She's much too cheerful.

Much. Too. Cheerful.

"I don't think your orders are anywhere near being ready for shipment. Is there something else you want?"

Orders? Ready for shipment? "What in the name of Pesci did you buy?" It takes everything within me not to bust a gasket.

Nero waltzes right up to the register. "Yes, citizen." 'Citizen'? What is this? The French Revolution? And is she ignoring me? "I wish to peruse your establishment for myself."

"Oh!" Another dawn of realization flashes across the clerk's face. Then she notices me. Our eyes lock. Mine, a light-bronzish color. Hers, a dull brown. Completely uninteresting and lacking little in the way of intelligence. Right then I know I've entered the Gates of Hell.

"Is this your boyfriend?!" My left eye twitches. It **twitches**. "He looks just like Shizuo Heiwajima!" What. "Well." She puts a finger to her chin in thought. "He looks like what I'd imagine Shizuo would if he looked less Japanese and aged ten years." I can't take it. I just can't. I slump over at the waist, as if I'd just taken a killing blow.

"Man, this guy must be loaded for a girl like you to pal around with him." This is said in what I can only assume to be was her attempt at a conspiratorial whisper. I say 'her attempt' because I can still hear her despite being partially deaf. Which means it was less of a whisper and more of a squeal in delight.

"Nonsense, girl!" I don't know whether I'm glad Nero's going to defend me or not. "His financial stability is merely an inadvertent bonus to his other charms!" … At least she's honest? "And I much prefer older men to begin with. Even if he is not as old as he appears." She folds her arms across her chest, leans back, and beams at the girl.

Another shrill squeal. "You're so cool!" Now I know why we're back here. This is the costume shop Nero bought from, right? Yeah, I can see why she'd return to this place. She gets praised here. "I want to be just like you when I get older!"

Hearty laughter greets her praise. But before Nero can open her mouth to respond (and make this spiral further out of control) I lunge for the clerk's register. Slamming a palm against its laminated wooden counter in the process.

"Two things." I say this with so much force I'm practically barking at her. Surprisingly, it doesn't seem to faze her. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, she looks like she's actually … happy to be talked to in such a tone? The hell? "First. I do not look like whatever husbando you just mentioned. Second. I am not this chick's boyfriend." I point my thumb in Nero's direction.

She nods her head. "He is my Praetor." Yeah! That's what I am! "However, given the opportunity I–

"Oh! I get it! That's why you bought that armor set! You guys are into that roleplaying stuff." Fuck the what?

"Clerk." I don't even bother to call the girl by the name listed on her uniform. "Go find her some clothes."

She attempts to protest. "But–"

"Now." All it takes is a heated glare and she scurries off with a 'yelp'. Doesn't even bother to ask what size Nero wears.

 _Nero?_

 _Yes, Praetor?_

 _Please avoid talking to her more than necessary. We're on a time crunch after all._

 _…_ _Alright, Praetor._

Why does she sound so downtrodden? Yeesh, now I feel like I just kicked a puppy.

 _You do want to go to other stores. Right?_

She experiences a quite visible moment of clarity.

 _Of course!_

 _Well then, we better hurry before they close. We haven't got all day, after all._

Probably the worst thing I could have said but, as they say, hindsight is 20/20. If only I'd had enough foresight to avoid the inevitable shitshow that was to follow.

The clerk eventually returned. I ended up sitting on a hard bench as I waited for Nero to come out of the changing rooms (I'd vehemently denied her offer to join). When she did return she was wearing perhaps the most ridiculous getup I've ever had the dissatisfaction of witnessing in person. It was certainly ostentatious, to say the least.

Somehow, Nero had chosen something that both provided the least amount of coverage while also still retaining a bunch of unnecessary attachments. What do I mean by this?

Princess Leia's golden bikini was more modest than this shit.

And for some reason Nero had desired wings. Yes, wings. On both her back and her head. Why were there wings on her head? Beats me.

So yes, my 'partner' in this death battle we had decided to compete in was currently wearing a string bikini. A string bikini that apparently came with wings and some sections of plate armor. For the shoulders and legs, of course, because those are most definitely vital organs worthy of protection. The heart? The head? Nah. Let them stay uncovered. It's not like they're important.

It should be noted that she actually did retain a portion of her dress with this change. No, not any of the dress itself. She kept the ribbon in her hair. Yay. And she somehow managed to upgrade her high heels. So now they were even more unwieldy looking.

"Praetor, how do I look?"

"Why do you have wings on your head? You look like Disney's portrayal of Hermes."

My response is an exasperated gasp. "That is **all** you noticed, Praetor?" She starts briefly (thankfully) doing a catwalk strut. It ends with her going into her chosen 'Emperor's pose' except this time she adds in a peace sign.

The fuck is my life?

"Oh, I see what you mean. You have a new sword. Why the hell is it rainbow colored?"

"Praetor!" Now she's groaning in annoyance. "You did not notice **anything** else?"

My vision focuses attentively upon her person. I think at this point the clerk's cleaning up the changing room. Thankfully. If that weren't the case I have no doubt she'd come out here to add her two cents. During this intense bout of observation, I come to a final conclusion.

She's not wearing a **string** bikini. No, hers is strapless.

"How does that stay on your tits? There's nothing holding it in place?"

Nero looks like she's about to have a stroke. And yet, somehow, she still manages to reply in her usual fashion. "The magnificence of my breasts knowns no bounds!" I know she's forcing it now. There's a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks. She's just doing this to avoid breaking down.

If I were a nicer man, I'd probably give in about now. But, I already gave in before (allowing this 'shopping spree' to take place at all) and she's just killed several of my IQ points with this outfit's appearance so….

"Are you saying your boobs have a gravitational field of their own?" I have no earthly idea how I manage to say this while still retaining a calm composure. It takes every ounce of my very being to avoid laughing hysterically at the absurdity of not only my statement but this situation itself.

This is just the **first** store.

How many more? Pesci. Please don't make it more than necessary.

Tears start bubbling in the corners of her eyes. She's sniffling now but trying oh so hard not to fully lose her composure.

"I look like Venus, do I not?" She briefly pauses to allow for a single sniffle. "Praetor?"

No mercy. No quarter. I'm going in for the kill. "I mean, not really. Venus is kind of just a rock that's constantly getting a tan because of how close it is to the sun. And I don't think it has a really big gravitational field. It's kinda small. Unlike Jupiter." I point to her chest. "If those can do what you claim they can, well, you're more like Jupiter."

She starts rubbing her eyes with the back of her arm, wiping the tears that had coalesced together.

"Jupiter …?"

"Yeah. Y'know, that big hunk of rock? Fifth planet in the solar system?"

She's not listening to me. She's just staring blankly off into the distance. "Jupiter …."

"That's what I said."

"The king of the gods."

Wait … where is she going with this? "Yeah, the planet was named after him."

"You are saying that not only does my beauty already rival Venus' own, but that this outfit grants me the same commanding aura Jupiter himself was famous for."

"No, that's not at all what I'm saying. I was–!"

"Citizen! I wish to purchase this! As well as any you yet have in stock." Nero turns to me, a massive smile on her face. "After all, we cannot let any other woman dare to copy my appearance."

Excuse me?

"Is that in addition to what you ordered before?" The clerk pops into view.

"Of course! This should suffice, no?" She hands over my credit card.

And that's how I came into possession of thirty-seven carbon copies of that ridiculous outfit (surprisingly enough, they weren't selling well). Thankfully, she had enough decency not to wear it in public. Hopefully, I'd be able to return them when this was all over. Either that or burn them so the world would be spared such a hideous sight. That would be fitting considering what she did to my house.

I can only hope the batch she ordered before this one wasn't more egregious.

* * *

After this debacle, we made our way to the next store. This one being a shop that exclusively sold swimwear. An odd choice, considering it was far past summer, but for whatever reason Nero insisted we look inside.

"No."

"Umu!"

"Stop making that idiotic noise. You're not a Pokémon and I already said 'no'".

"But Praetor! All you need to do is pick one!"

Before me were two options. Two paths for me to choose from.

On the left, I had a red version of Borat's mankini. Except this is, of course, meant to be worn by a woman and not a hairy little Arab man.

On the right, I have something that, in comparison, is less revealing but still not exactly something to write home about. It barely conceals the breasts, basically only hiding the nipples behind two striped straps that cross over one another diagonally in an 'x' shape. At least the bottom half of the suit is better. It still looks like it could slip off at any moment, but I can say it looks somewhat normal.

"When are you even going to go to the beach?! Did you forget we're fighting a war?!"

"We were in the water but a few days ago, Praetor?"

Wasn't that when I was drowning?!

I can't help but sigh. What in the world have I gotten myself into?

"Personally, I prefer onesies. They do a much better job at accentuating a woman's curves."

Did I just say that out loud?

Nero stares at me, her mind seemingly going into overdrive as she starts processing this information. "Explain."

"Do I really have to?"

"Yes, as your Emperor I demand it of you."

I let out a mixture of a death rattle and a sigh. Fuck it. I might as well double down with this. "Ok, well … how should I put this? Sometimes it's not about what you show but what you **don't** show. You get me?"

She tilts her head in confusion. "I do not. That is contradictory to the goal of an artist, is it not?"

I'm not exactly the person who should be answering that since I'm not, y'know, an artist but … let's give it a shot.

"I suppose it depends on whether or not you believe the artist or the audience gets the final say in what a piece means. I'm of the belief that it's the observer's opinion that means the most. If they cannot see what the artist intended for them to, then the artist has failed. Has he not?"

She mulls over this and, seeing this as an opportunity to push ahead (and possibly get off this topic of swimsuits), I continue. "So, logically, the job of an artist would be to make sure their message rings through in their work. Right?"

"I suppose that is an accurate conclusion."

Of course it is. "And how would you do that? By making the audience focus on what you want them to."

"How does this relate to my choice of swimwear?"

And there she goes. Bringing this back to that topic. The topic I was trying to get off of. "Your choice of clothing determines where people will look at, yes?"

"That is a sound observation."

"Your dress makes people look at your tits, ass, and panties," I say this in the most monotone voice available to me. I don't think there's any other way to go about this.

"Praetor, you are grossly oversimplifying the magnificence of my–"

"Nah ah, remember what I said. The viewer gets the final say. That's just how it is."

"I do not necessarily agree with that but fine. Even if that is the case, who is to say that is a bad thing? As long as someone is marveling at my being everything is as it should be." Cue the Emperor's pose.

"Alright, I get that. It's nice to be admired. But I just have to say that I'd find it disconcerting to be lusted over. You're just made of tougher stuff than I." I shrug, hoping to drop this conversation for good. We've already prolonged our time spent in this shop too much and I can only guess how many more she wants to go through.

"Why though?"

"Huh?" I had expected her to get the hint and move on but apparently that's not the case.

"You say you dislike the idea of being desired. Why? Is this not something most men wish for?" Her eyes search mine for an answer. Why is this even being brought up? Who cares? It's not like any of this matters. My opinion on this type of thing is meaningless in the long run.

"I … I've seen some things. Terrible things. The concept of 'lust' isn't something I particularly approve of." This isn't the sort of conversation I want to have in a swimsuit shop. This isn't the sort of conversation I want to have at all.

"What happened to you?" Is that pity in her voice? Sympathy? Possibly empathy? For whom? Me?

Outrageous.

"Not me." I physically shake my head, formally rejecting that idea. "Others."

"Who?" It's the obvious question to ask. But it's not something I can answer. Suddenly, I wish that we could start talking about swimsuits again.

"I can't go into details but … you remember Kiara? The nun we met who's acting as the overseer?"

She nods, her expression souring ever so slightly. Still seems she has that dislike of the Church.

"She had a … difficult childhood." That's putting it lightly. "She got mixed up with the wrong crowd." What am I? A soccer dad? This sounds like something an old man would say. But how else can I explain this without giving away too much? After all, it isn't my story to tell. "I met her in the midst of this and I … tried my best to get her out of it." Yet another failure of mine. But at least with this one she was still alive. Broken, yes, but alive.

For some reason, Nero's mouth goes wide, as if she's seen a ghost. "The dream."

"The what?"

She's already waving that outburst aside. "It is alright, Praetor. You need not say anymore if it is difficult for you. I understand."

Well. That certainly made this even more awkward. I was expecting her to be a little more inquisitive. Not that I'm going to take this for granted or anything (quite the opposite) but still.

"I apologize, Praetor. I misjudged you."

"Eh?"

"I had thought of you as a voracious sexual deviant." What. "An impudicus trying his best to hide his inner beast." What. "I believe now that I was merely projecting my own inner desire upon yourself. Wishing for you to be something you never were." What?! "To think, my Praetor would be in the service of Pudicitia. Certainly not the goddess I would have chosen but I cannot fault you much."

She smiles brightly. "You are truly a noble savage." Again, what?!

"How am I supposed to respond to that?"

"Moving on." No! You cannot just 'move on' after giving me that sort of spiel. What in the hell even was that?! What was she even talking about? And who does she think she is calling me a 'noble savage'?! "I believe you stated you prefer a 'onesie' because it 'accentuates a woman's curves better', yes?"

"Ah, yeah?"

"This would indicate you at least have some interest in the female form, yes?"

"Again, how am I supposed to respond to that?"

"There is still some hope for you yet, Praetor." Now if only I could say the same to you. "Back to the matter at hand," Oh, thank Pesci. "I need you to describe what you see me as!"

"No."

"Umu."

"Stop abusing that!"

"Umu."

"Fine. You're pretty–"

"Mmm, I believe I am understanding your tastes better. In the past, you called me 'attractive'. However, now your choice of phrasing has altered slightly."

"You cut me off. I was going to say 'you're pretty annoying'."

"'Pretty' is the compliment a young child would give his first crush. It stands alongside the likes of 'cute' and 'adorable'. I cannot disagree with any of these being accurate descriptions of myself, however it has been quite some time since someone called me 'pretty'. Beautiful, perhaps. Divine, yes. Radiant, gorgeous, magnificent, exquisite, extraordinary–"

She's now just complimenting herself. Rambling on an entire dictionary page's worth of descriptions without a second thought. It's somewhat disturbing.

"Wondrous, glorious, charming, d–"

"Hey, is this going somewhere?"

She halts midsentence. Turning to me with an unfocused gaze. "Worry not, Praetor! I already have an idea as to what you would like!"

"Get yourself something you like and not something I do. I'm not going to be wearing it."

"Merchant! I am in need of assistance!" She struts over to the shop's register, undoubtedly seeking the poor lad that had been manning it when we came in.

Nero had been particularly 'picky' with her taste of attire in this store. As a result, she'd tried on a lot of outfits. About 99% of which she found didn't suit her needs. Which means there's, give or take, roughly ninety-nine swimsuits that need to be rehung on the shelves.

I'm somewhat ashamed of myself for allowing this debacle to continue. It's not surprising at all things went down this path. If anything, I'm surprised this didn't happen in the first few stores she went to. For whatever reason she's being more finicky with her choice of swimwear.

Which is unbelievably stupid, by the way. I've already pointed out to her, approximately a half-dozen times, that there's no need for such an article of clothing. This city doesn't even have any good beaches (at least compared to other parts of the world I've been to). And even if it did there's no way we'd be going to one. But, even if we were (Pesci knows how she'd manage to convince me of that in the middle of a **war** ) we'd soon find the water wasn't exactly beach body ready.

What I'm saying is that it'd be cold as hell. Something I can attest to considering I almost got hypothermia from our brief (unwanted) swim in the harbor.

I get that she's immune to the elements as a result of her status as a Heroic Spirit. I really do. But there's no way I'm going to take a break (during a **war** ) just so I can drive (probably with a stolen vehicle) her ass to the nearest beach. Only to not even do anything but sit on the shore.

Ok, maybe if I had a pina colada or a margarita in my hand it wouldn't be too bad, but still. My point stands.

We're not getting a beach episode. Fuck no.

Beaches suck anyway. They have sand. And, quoting one of the greatest Casanovas of our generation, 'I don't like sand. It's all coarse, and rough, and irritating. And it gets everywhere.'

"Praetor? I believe this fits your tastes?" Oh wow, she managed to change that quickly? I suppose I should at least be happy these shops aren't that busy, otherwise this would take even longer than it already– The fuck is this?

"What are you wearing?"

She's wearing a … a … school swimsuit?

A … middle school swimsuit?!

What is the name of Pesci is she trying to say about my 'tastes'?!

It doesn't fit her. I don't think I need to explain why it doesn't. Just know that it doesn't. I have no earthly idea as to how she managed to slip into it to begin with.

"What do you think Pra–?"

"No."

The smile that's on her face wilts ever so slightly. She apparently assumed I'd accept this idiocy.

"Did you ever think maybe that wasn't in the adult women's section for a reason?"

"B-b-but Praetor, it was the only one I could find!" It … was the only one you could find?

What in the name of all that is holy was the point of the past conversation if there was only one outfit?! I could have said anything and you would have still come out with the same swimsuit!

I glance lazily in the direction of the two workers sorting through her rampage in the back. I'm probably going to have to crack some skulls if they did this intentionally. I've already got enough of a headache and this is just piling it on worse.

One of the two turns around, feeling my glare focused on the back of his head. He takes one look at Nero and a secondary look at me and pales considerably. For a moment I believe this is because I've genuinely terrified him. Then he starts … begging?

Pleading, actually. And he's mouthing something. It's along the lines of "Please don't make me look for a different one!"

Ah. So that explains it. This is actually the only onesie they have and Nero's been working these two sad SOBs like a sweatshop would.

I have two options before me. Order the two overworked fellows to find her something different. Or just accept this and move on with my life.

I don't think there's a point in making them suffer anymore.

"You know what? It's great." My tone of voice says the exact opposite. I just want this all to end.

Nero swipes a finger across each of her eyes. Was she actually starting to tear up over this?

Stupid woman. Who puts so much thought into what they wear anyway?

"Really?"

"Yup." I make no further commitment to complimenting her choice of … attire. At least she didn't pick one of those other two swimsuits.

I'm caught off guard by what happens next. Nero … embraces me. Shouting in joy as she does so. I can ever so slightly feel the texture of rubber through my shirt. It's … somewhat unpleasant.

"Ok, ok. There, there." I pat her on the head like a dog. The workers see this. They make no comment.

Thankfully.

"Citizens!" This again? "I would like to purchase all of it!"

She points at the massive pile of clothing they'd been working on hanging back up. And guess what's on top of this? Those two ridiculous swimsuits she displayed before me but a moment ago.

Well, I did tell her to buy what she wanted and not what I did.

What I wanted was none of this. She wanted all of it.

Apparently, I'm not the one wearing the pants in this relationship.

"T-t-that's … gotta be at least …." I start making a few mental calculations to try and discern the price of everything she's gathered.

For their worth, the two workers start playing a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. I can only assume this is in order to determine who has to scan everything at the cash register.

I'm going to be penniless by the time this is over.

* * *

"Wait, Praetor. Look!"

"No. No more. Please. No more." We've been in and out of about a dozen stores by now. My laundry's definitely done and my bank account's probably in a coma. And this is after it'd just been brought back from the dead.

Brought back from the dead after **she** murdered it by buying that hoity-toity mansion.

"But look! Does that not meet the expectations you placed upon me? Is that not 'pretty'?"

I stop. This again? Pesci, I just want to go get my clothes from the laundromat and go home.

Is that too much to ask for?

"Look, I think you've gotten enough for one …."

I stop talking. Before us, in one of the storefront displays, they're showing off a dress. Normally, I wouldn't give it a second glance but … for whatever reason it just looks like the perfect outfit for Nero. I have no clue as to why. It's just a simple, red frilly little short dress. Nothing too out of the ordinary. In fact, it's almost as short as Rin's so I probably should be hating it. But I don't. Something about it just seems 'fitting'.

"Modern costume of Crimson."

"What kinda name is that?"

"I shall return momentarily, Praetor! Do not miss me too much!"

Nero rushes to the store's door … giving my hand a quick squeeze as she runs off.

It's … odd. Not unpleasant but … surprising.

It shouldn't have caught me off guard like it did but, well, I dare say that it's sometimes hard to differentiate Nero the Heroic Spirit from Nero the girl.

Sometimes, it almost feels like we're not fighting in a war.

"There you are!"

And then Rin Motherfucking Emiya screams loud enough that even a partially-deaf man (myself) can hear her clear as day.

"Oh, I didn't expect you to show up again so–"

Wait … why is she rearing her leg back? And … is that a banana peel on her head?

"Useless!" Her leg shoots forward and I swear I hear the crack of a gunshot when it makes contact. Where does it hit? Simple.

My crotch.

I slump over from the blow, hiding my face from Rin's prying eyes.

"There, maybe that'll teach you not to be such a jerk. Do you even know what I had to go through because of your little stunt?"

I can't help it. I start laughing. "Ahahaha."

She blinks, perplexed as to how I could be in a jovial mood. "Why are you laughing? **How** are you laughing?"

"Do you–ahaha– do you really think you're the first chick I've pissed off?" I restraighten my posture, finally getting a clean look at Rin's not-so-clean appearance.

She's covered in grime and filth. Why, it looks like she'd just gotten off of an episode of Dirty Jobs. That pale white complexion of hers has been coated by a bronze layer of garbage.

"An upgrade of the old jockstrap and protection cup combo." I wrap my knuckles against my groin, eliciting a dull metallic thud from my nether regions. "Heh, you couldn't hurt me if you–!"

She hits me smack dab in between my legs with a kick that has to be Reinforced with prana. There's no other way she'd be capable of lifting me a solid couple of feet off the ground.

Houston, we have lift off.

The pain is so unimaginable that for a moment it feels as if I'm having an out of body experience. She's gone full nutcracker on me and I can only hope her actions haven't turned me into the Sugar Plum Fairy.

I don't even have the chance to scream. The best I can do is whimper.

The only satisfaction I can reap from this is the pain that Rin is undoubtedly now experiencing as well. She kicked a solid hunk of steel. Reinforcement or not, she'll be feeling that for some time to come.

And that's probably why she's hopping in a circle on her left foot. Hope she doesn't have any plans of playing soccer for some time to come.

But I digress, my condition is far worse. The metal did absorb most of the direct damage, but it was completely useless at handling the force itself. Meaning, while the kick itself wasn't capable of making contact with my flesh directly it was fully capable of applying pressure the likes of which only fighter pilots who've experienced G-force can sympathize with.

"Praetor, what was that n–" It is at this moment that Nero exits the nearby store. The first sight she sees is me clutching my crotch and trying my best to wait out the sheer shock I'm currently going through. The second sight is Rin rolling on the ground while tenderly clutching her foot.

Oh but hey, she's decked out in that dress now. The new one we both were admiring but a scant few moments ago. I can't be bothered to care about any of that now.

"One. Two. Three. Four." Counting helps. Barely, but it helps.

What helps more is the bear mace. Yeah, bear mace.

I produce a can of it from seemingly nowhere and waltz (well, 'waddle' is probably a more accurate term) right up to Rin.

"Let me show you just how committed I am to true gender equality." If only my attempt at being menacing didn't come out in a squeaky, somewhat falsetto tone. I probably sound more like Mickey Mouse than anything remotely frightening.

I mentally prepare myself for the likely consequence that will result from this course of action. Rin will most certainly try to land a counterattack, and I have little confidence that I'll be able to dodge it in the sorry state I'm in. At best, I can only hope that she won't think enough to Reinforce her leg to the degree she did with that last hit. She's already dented the metal between my legs. One more blow and she'll probably cause it to splinter altogether. And I can only balk at the thought of where those splinters of steel will go.

But, it'll be worth it. Ok, maybe it won't but this injustice cannot be left unanswered! She must be punished for her crime against me and that punishment must be worse than just a sore foot!

I aim the can straight at her face, and she pauses in her bemoaning once she realizes what the can is.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I most certainly would. After all, you did assault me."

A third kick comes my way before I can even react. Crap, she's aiming for the exact same spot! I'm going to be a eunuch if this–

 _Smack._

Smack? That's not the sound I was expecting. Maybe she didn't get a chance to Reinforce her leg enough? Wait … why am I not feeling pain?

…

And why was I so resigned to accept my fate?! I didn't even try to block her kick!

But … it seems someone else did.

"Heh, thanks for the save, Saber." Nero managed (I say this as if it was hard for her to do) to grab ahold of Rin's leg before it could hit me. Unlike with the Taiga incident (as I will now call it), she was able of stopping the attempted blow way before it even came close to landing.

"Now, just hold her still and I'll–" I shake the can as threateningly as possible. "Make her eyes ache as much as my gonads do."

"Wait, Praetor. Is there not another way this can be settled?" Ah, Nero, Nero, Nero. You're trying to be the voice of reason now of all times? I'm sorry, but the concept of reason vacated my mind the second she tried to eradicate the possibility of me ever continuing my genetic lineage.

"Nope. You know the saying: 'an eye for an eye'." I begin to depress the can's button. Any moment now and Rin'll be squealing like a pig from the pain. That should teach her not to–

Why is the can now pointed at the sky?

Well damn. It seems my longtime enemy has reared its ugly head once more.

Gravity. You're such a bastard.

Nero had grabbed my wrist and, in her attempt at 'saving' Rin, threw my aim off immensely.

Which causes me to shoot the entirety of the can's contents (she also somehow managed to 'accidentally' keep my thumb on the button) into the air above me.

And, as physics dictates, the contents of said can rain back down upon me. What goes up must come down.

If only I hadn't been staring upwards in confusion. If only I had at least had the sense to close my eyes.

If only ….

* * *

Fast forward five minutes (no need to mention all the agonizing pain) and we're all sitting outside a convenience store a few blocks down the street from where that initial 'scuffle' took place.

I'm currently pouring milk into my peepholes. Rin's holding a bag of ice to her foot. And Nero's trying her best to sit between us and keep the peace.

Hey, I suppose I should at least be thankful that she apologized for the entire incident. Especially when I should be doing the same since I technically exacerbated the situation. But I won't. Because fuck Rin. Fuck her and her Karate Kid bullshit.

She's not the only one that has a bag of ice but at least hers is **outside** her clothes.

Did I mention she never apologized? Well … she didn't.

A loud drawn-out sigh sounds off beside me. "Sorry about your … you know. I was aiming for your gut."

We both know that's a crock of shit. "I'm only sorry that you didn't end up **breaking** your foot."

Something taps me on the shoulder. "Praetor, I believe I need to show you a thing or two about diplomacy."

"Yeah, gonna have to decline on that. Diplomacy only works when both sides have something worth negotiating over." I send a heated glare to Rin. "And right now I can't think of a single thing she could give me."

"I find that surprising, Praetor. I did not expect your imagination to be so … lacking."

What in the hell does that mean?

"I can think of at least a dozen ways in which Rin here can be of assistance."

Rin, for whatever reason, has turned a bright shade of scarlet. "I retract my apology! I want no part of whatever it is your thinking of!"

Neither Nero nor I seem to understand why she's getting so worked up. "But Rin, did you not imply you had knowledge of our competitors?"

"She also said she could fix my hearing and look how that turned out."

"At least I tried!"

"I think I would have preferred you not. You got my hopes up over nothing."

"Praetor, that is not entirely fair. Her intentions were praiseworthy. Despite her execution."

"Nope, that's not how this works. Don't promise results you can't achieve. If anything I should sue her."

" **Sue** me?! You're going to **sue** me?! I should sue you!"

"For what?"

"For vandalizing my house!"

I have to mull over that for a second. What is she talking about? Vandalizing her house? When did I even step foot in her …. Oh. Wait. Didn't she say she bought the Tohsaka dump? And didn't she try to threaten me with that before? Ugh. This girl's a pain in the ass.

"How about we just call it even stevens and let bygones be bygones? I trashed your already trashy house and you failed to fix my ears after saying you would." I awkwardly extend a hand in front of Nero, trying my best to bridge the gap between Rin and I. "Let's just drop this matter completely. We're both assholes, ok?"

Rin stares at the hand and instead of shaking it she chooses to cross her arms. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"You threw me into a trash compactor!"

"Technically speaking it was the homeless guy that did the throwing."

"Praetor. I do not believe it wise to bring that up."

"What homeless guy?!"

"Sorry, I can't answer that. I didn't think to get his business card."

Is her eyebrow twitching? Yeesh, girl has some anger issues.

"You. Are. Unbearable."

"Oh? You want me to be 'bearable'?"

Her eyes narrow, as if she can tell this is a trap. "Isn't that what anyone would want?"

"Well ok then." I direct the next bit at Nero. "Hey Boo Boo let's, uh, go get us a pic-a-nic basket, yeah?" She blinks in pure, utter, confusion. Her brain incapable of processing what I just said.

"Is something wrong, Praetor?"

"This is where you say 'Ok, Yogi'."

She hesitates, biting her lip as she ponders as to whether or not to follow my instructions. Apparently, her trust in me (foolish girl) wins out and we're graced with perhaps the most grandiose 'ok, Yogi' to ever be spoken audibly in the public domain.

With that out of the way, I turn to Rin. "That better for ya? Or do you want me to say 'only you can prevent forest fires' too?"

She silently stands up, completely ignoring the bag of ice she's left on the floor, and starts to trot off.

"Where are you going?"

"To your house."

"Hey! That's trespassing!"

"Right now, I can't handle you and, unfortunately, you have something I need. So, I can't just leave you to your own devices." She keeps walking away, getting quieter and quieter as the distance between us widens. "This is a good compromise. It gives me some time to compartmentalize the idiocy I just witnessed into a remote part of my mind."

"Don't you dare go into my house! When I find you your ass better be sitting at least 500 feet away from my front door!"

She waves that demand aside completely, still walking away like a zombie.

"Psshh, stupid girl's going to end up dead."

"How so, Praetor?"

"She's going to get ambushed."

"Ambushed?"

I pour the last droplets of sweet, sweet liquid calcium onto my face. Hoping, praying almost, that it'll finally quell the last remnants of burning in my eyes. It does. Temporarily.

"Think of it like this. We've been ambushed four times by Servants (two times by the same one) and I've ambushed a Master once." I stand up, instinctively offering a hand to Nero to aid her in doing the same. "That a record of 4-1. Which means the odds are in favor of us being ambushed again." Yes, this is an unfortunate fact I've long since accepted. I'm still furious it's the case, but it's better to embrace the inevitable rather than fight it. At least, in cases where that 'inevitable' is just a minor annoyance and not an outright problem.

Being ambushed by reanimated historical figures that want to murder us is a minor annoyance. Only because we have to kill them anyway and, while it's a frustrating experience, at least we won't have to track them down.

Oh, I will most certainly do that if the option presents itself but for now it seems like we have a better chance at just waiting for the enemy to come to us. Then, when they inevitably don't die because they're cheeky shits, we can follow them to their lair and stomp them out for good.

We'll probably get ambushed a second time along the way (and their hideout itself will probably be an ambush) but fuck it. Embrace the ambush is what I say.

"I've also noticed that they only come out when you think they're not going to. So, we can time when they'll ambush us by telling ourselves that they're not going to ambush us."

"Praetor, could you repeat that once more? I do not understand."

"It's simple. We know they're going to ambush us when they know we don't know they're going to ambush us. So, to know when they're going to ambush us we have to tell ourselves that they're not going to ambush us. So then they'll ambush us but we'll know they're going to."

"Praetor … I still do not follow your reasoning."

"Rin doesn't know that she's going to be ambushed so she's going to be ambushed."

"But Praetor, using that logic, you know Rin will be ambushed so therefore she will not be ambushed."

Oh? She raises a good point.

"Furthermore, Praetor. Rin already ambushed you. However, you knew she was going to because you suspected she had not died. Therefore, your initial observation is flawed. We can be ambushed when we expect it or when we do not. It is merely up to the enemy to decide."

"So, you're telling me I wasted the entirety of my afternoon for nothing?"

"What do you mean, Praetor?"

I sigh. "I figured that they'd come after us during the shopping. I mean, we were prime targets. Neither of us had our guards up and there weren't a lot of bystanders around that would have gotten in the way."

"Praetor … do you mean to tell me this was all a ploy to draw out the enemy?" She sounds … sad? Distressed, definitely, but why? Did … she really care that much about a shopping trip?

"No? I figured that was going to happen anyway. I haven't had a moment of peace since this War started. I'm actually surprised things went as well as they did."

She blinks, the frown that had been threatening to creep up on her face shifting to an expression of awe. "You mean to say, you enjoyed the time we spent together?"

"Sure? Why wouldn't I?"

She starts laughing. Why, I do not know. "Of course! Why would you not? After all, not everyone can have the privilege to spend an afternoon with an Emperor!"

"You're trying way too hard."

She fake coughs awkwardly into a fist. "I do not know what you are talking about. And Praetor? I will have you know that I too enjoyed the time we spent together today."

"Sweet." We just silently sit there. Staring at one another without blinking. I would assume any passerby would take us both to be morons.

"Praetor, I find your lack of reaction to be troubling for many reasons."

"Duly noted. Can we go get my clothes now? The laundromat is going to close soon."

"Preposterous. They cannot close as long as I have business with them. To do such would be sacrilege."

"Keep telling yourself that. They're still going to change the sign to 'closed' if we're late."

"Hmph, a citizen of Rome is incapable of displaying such a level of rudeness."

"Well, they're citizens of Fuyuki City. Two completely different things."

"Perhaps to you Praetor, but in my–"

"You freaks chose now of all times to pop up!"

The both of us halt in our tracks. "Was that Rin?"

"I believe it was, Praetor."

"I am not in the mood for this!" Rin's shrill cry echoes over the horizon.

"Does this mean my hypothesis was correct?"

Nero grabs my forearm. "Not now, Praetor! We have to help her!"

"Do we? Do we really?"

"Stand back!" Again Rin's voice reaches us.

"Praetor!" Nero doesn't seem at all amused by my hesitation.

"Fiiinnneee."

And so, the two of us rush off into the distance. Two gallivanting white knights charging forth to save the fair maiden from horrors left unknown.

Ah, who am I kidding? Nero's rushing off. I'm slowly waltzing down the sidewalk. Not at all concerned about the wellbeing of our acquaintance.

Do I even need to say why?

I'm still sore.

... Wait. What about my clothes at the laundromat?

"Goddammit, Rin! Why couldn't you scream just a little quieter!"

* * *

 **AN: As always, a big thanks should go to King Keith for looking this over for me. Be sure to check out his work if you get a chance! Now, as for the chapter itself: t** **his was more or less another feel-good chapter. I hope it didn't come across as being unnecessary fluff because trust me when I say this is going to build us into the story's next 'arc'. By the way, big thanks to all of you who answered my little set of questions. So far I've gathered that it's probably not a good idea to start up more stories before this one's complete, that Dante becoming a demi-Servant would be kind of dumb, and that Fate Last Encore wasn't a mixed bag (an opinion I agree with, it was much too trippy). I appreciate all the feedback! Just as a heads-up, I'm going to be doing another poll on my profile. This one will be in reference to which story I should do next. The options being "Dante and Diarmuid", "Dante and Atalanta", "Dante with Tamamo in the Moon Cell", "a Fate fic completely without Dante (possibly with Hakuno)", and potentially "a sequel to Schizoid Man". This last one, of course, depending heavily on how this story ends. I'm also very much considering a Fate Zero fic in which Dante (or another Servant) is summoned by Kirei Kotomine. It wouldn't exactly be based in canon (considering how the Fuyuki Grail can only summon Hassan as an Assassin normally) but I actually like Kotomine as a character and wish he'd gotten someone with more "personality" than Hundred-Faced Hassan. Let me know how you guys (and gals) feel about the idea. And remember, "Joe Pesci loves you"!**

 **...Did you think I was done? Nope! Onto the reviews!**

 **Jajo Camello: I get exactly what you mean when you say you prefer an underpowered protagonist that still manages to win. We all love rooting for the underdog. I'm going to try my best to keep that part of Dante going strong while also slowly building him up power-wise. Not to the point where he's able of taking on Servants single-handedly (cuz that would be stupid) but to a degree in which he's going to actually be able to contend against fellow Masters. Hopefully, I won't disappoint!**

 **SMV Aria2: (This is going to be cringe so brace yourself.) Yes! Senpai did finally notice you! I'm thinking to play it safe I'll wait on any spin-offs for now. At the most, I'll start one up near the very end of Schizoid Man so there isn't a delay from one to the next. Oh, and yes, Dante being a demi-Servant does sound like it has a lot of potential for being godawful. It's one of the only ways I can think of Dante being involved in the events of Grand Order though but that might just be my lack of imagination at play. And, Last Encore was definitely... 'meh'. Nowhere near as good as Zero or UBW. I appreciate that they tried to be different (and went a completely different way than canon Extra) but... it was just disappointing in the end. But hey, Nero was good.**

 **Darebear the bear: I like to at least try and think of how certain things would work before writing them off completely. Keeping an open mind is important after all. Really, what you're doing is just the first step of brainstorming for a story. It's something I do quite a lot. Come up with an idea, think about how it could work and how it couldn't, and decide whether or not to use it after doing so. It's kind of like the scientific method lol. Anywho, you're right that it's more of the former and less of the latter. I'll give you a hint: it's a character we haven't yet seen but know will be popping up because a character related to them (not in a familial way) has already shown themselves. Hopefully, that's vague enough to peak your interest while still not giving it away completely XD. As for your responses to my questions (thanks for responding by the way)**

 **1\. I agree with this. Not the part about this being the best Fate fic because (while that is immensely flattering and I'm happy you think that) Chaos Theory is a thing that exists on this site. I don't think anyone will ever be able of competing with that lol.**

 **2\. I get what you're saying. At most, if he were to be a demi-Servant he should be paired with someone weaker and not someone like Ishtar or Zhuge Liang. Less of that and more of Dante being paired with Neil Armstrong or Wernher Von Braun (who apparently are Servants in canon).**

 **3\. I don't want to influence your opinion on it but... it's not for everyone. Especially since it doesn't really follow canon (I can see how that'd upset fans of the game).**

 **And those Kiara endings will be coming, you can bet on that!**

 **Lady Vanatos: Thank you for saying that :D. However, I feel I'm the only one at fault for this. My update schedule is way out of whack.**

 **King Keith: I get what you're saying. If anything, I feel like writing a sequel right after Schizoid Man would end up burning me out on Dante as a whole. Which is why a "sequel" probably wouldn't even include Nero (and that would rightfully upset some people) until later on. Hmm... how about Dante being a demi-Servant "contracted" with Bonnie & Clyde? Except instead of having two voices in his head (that'd make him go crazy) he's summoned as a substitute for Clyde alongside a Bonnie? I'm less inclined on the demi-Servant idea now seeing the points many have made but that'd probably be the way I'd go about it if I chose to. Of course, it'd be annoying to have Dante and another OC (well, technically not an OC because it's Bonnie & Clyde but...).**

 **ZenoZen: In that case, I'm going to put your answer strictly in the "hell no" category just to play it on the safe side lol. I'm terrible at updating two stories in a timely fashion, I can only wonder what would happen were I to take on a third. Yeah, making Dante a demi-Servant would undoubtedly give him an unearned power boost. Which isn't really fun because there's no struggle involved. And on the topic of Last Encore: whew, you are most definitely right about having to not think about Zero or UBW while watching it. The studio that created it has an entirely different style. Which, I can see many enjoying so I understand why you like it. Personally, I ended up liking it less than everything we've gotten recently besides Apocrypha and Prisma Illya. Which doesn't mean it's bad by any means. Oh, and I am most definitely glad to be back (says this four months later)! I'm praying/hoping/pleading that I'll be able to get chapter 16 up in like a month or two (or if I'm really ambitious a few weeks). I have a much better idea of where I'm going with this now and with my schedule opening up considerably I'll have no reason (aside from laziness and procrastination) to take so long.**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: Hoo boy, I'm going to come up with all manner of nicknames for Rin besides just that lol. And hopefully, they'll be way more clever than just "Rin Motherfucking Emiya". I sprinkled a little bit more UMU in this chapter just for you, and finally followed through with that long-awaited promise of having Dante getting his coconuts crushed. A fight will likely be coming up in the next chapter. As for how good it'll be... eh, I'm terrible at fight scenes so it's anyone's guess :P.**


	16. I Got a Name

**Disclaimer: This chapter (like most of mine) ends in a cliffhanger. A rather significant one. My apologies for that but, had it not been done, this chapter would be twice as long as it is already. Oh, and as a side note the poll regarding what I should do after this story is still up on my profile. Be sure to vote to your heart's content!**

* * *

 **Chapter 16- I Got a Name**

I'm … not quite sure what to make of this.

"So. You satisfied?" I'm directing this question at Nero. "Can we go now?"

She doesn't respond and, to be frank, I don't exactly blame her. I like to think that I have a vivid imagination. I mean, if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to build half the stuff I can. But even so, **this** was not what I was expecting to see upon making our way to Rin.

Why are there fucking monks?

And why is Rin kicking their asses?

 _Praetor. I feel like we should help in some way._

 _I agree. We should probably stop her before she maims Friar Tuck._

That remark gets me a rather poignant look in return.

But if anything, it's her own fault. How could she possibly think Rin needs our help?

The girl just performed a piledriver on one of them! I think she broke his neck!

"Yo. What the hell is going on here?"

Rin turns towards us, looking away from the robed chump she currently has in a headlock. "Have you just been standing there?"

"Yeah," I admit it without any sense of regret. What am I supposed to do? Intervene? The way she was flailing about I had a bigger chance of getting hit by (not so) friendly fire than I had making a degree of difference in the situation. And besides, I was only semi-joking when I suggested we should help the freaks that had (apparently) ambushed Rin. She was butchering them.

Seriously.

 **Butchering**.

It was like watching Vlad the Impaler take some Turks to town.

But with less wooden stakes and more armbars.

"Why don't you–?!" She gets cut off before she can finish. Courtesy of an elbow to the face. I have to give props to the mad bastard she's choking out. He actually managed to get one clean hit in. "You sonofa–!"

"Hey uh … does this mean I can go get my laundry?"

"Praetor, I feel you should be far more perturbed than you are."

"Nah. She looks like she's got it taken care of. Besides, if the OJ Simpson trial taught me anything it's that leather shrinks after it's been wet. And I never got a chance to take my jacket out of the spin cycle and put it into the dryer."

"Gah!" That sounded like it came from Rin.

"What the hell is a 'gah'?" I turn my head away from Nero and back to the unholy site of conquest before me. … Wow. Seems they managed to actually break free.

One of them must have snuck up on Rin and smacked with something because she's currently rubbing her head as if something hit it. And more importantly, the dude she was strangling got away.

As did the other three.

Actually … wait. Scratch that. They're limping off into the distance.

Pesci. I almost want to shoot them. Just to put them out of their misery. I'd probably do it too, if not for the cleanup that'd entail.

"Hey. They seem to be escaping."

"What?!" Rin lunges up, wobbling a little as she begins to regain her bearings. "Why didn't you stop them?!" Oh. Now she's screaming at me. That's kinda rude.

"Didn't wanna."

Oh. Why is she getting red in the face? And why are her cheeks puffing up? She looks a bit like a bearded dragon, y'know? Those lizard things that change colors and swell up their necks to look more intimidating. That's Rin.

"You. Did. Not. Want. To."

Well that is certainly a far less efficient way to put it. Seriously, does she not know what an apostrophe is?

"Hey, Saber could have stopped them." I mean to be fair, Rin could even stop them now. They've only made it like thirty feet. The one dude just fell down in the gutter … Pesci … she broke his ankle!

Does this … does this mean she went **easy** on me?! She held back?!

"Alright then. Saber, why didn't you stop them?"

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Why did you actually ask her a–?!

Nero puffs up. Her chest, not her neck. If Rin's a bearded dragon than Nero is most definitely a frigate-bird.

Now she's extending her arms. Gesticulating madly in every direction. Gotta have the proper buildup of course. Can't answer a simple question without turning the ham levels up to eleven, after all.

"Because, Rin, I feel you have the situation under control." Huh? That was not as bad as I was– "And to be fair, dear Rin, watching you combat these thuggish rouges reminded me of the time I reenacted one of the many feats of Hercules by wrestling with a lion barehanded." Her entire face erupts into a cheerful smile as she grabs Rin's hands within her own and gets far too close to the girl's face. "Watching you spar" Spar! She's calling that … that injustice I was forced to withstand sparring?! "with my Praetor felt much the same however here, to see you in all your glory, has been a wondrous sight indeed. I thank you for reminding me of some of the happier times in my past."

At this point, they're almost hugging. Nero's clinging to her like an adoring fan and Rin's … blushing?! She's blushing?! The hell is this?!

"Y-y-you're … welcome." This is getting ridiculous. Rin's stuttering like crazy. Clearly, she lacks the will to resist Nero's … positivity.

"Hey! Bipolar girl!" And both turn towards me simultaneously. Pesci, give me strength. "Rin! You going to go after those guys?! They're getting away!"

I'm yelling at her partially because I want to ensure she can hear me, partial deafness still plagues me, and partially because it feels like a good way to unload some of my grievances.

All at once Rin deflates. The color drains from her face and her brow creases significantly. She wrenches her hands away from Nero, giving an apologetic look to her as she does so, and points a rather rigid finger directly at me. "You! Don't think I didn't see this ploy for what it was! You just wanted to place the blame onto your Servant's shoulders so you could escape responsibility!"

Isn't that what she's doing? She's trying to blame me for those weirdos managing to run off when clearly if she was half as competent as she probably believed, they wouldn't have had the chance to.

"Praetor, is that true?"

Damn. Now Nero's giving me a set of puppy dog eyes. Must … resist …. "Absolutely." I can barely get the word out, but force myself to in order to keep up appearances. I will not fall for such blatant manipulation, you seductress! My mind is incorruptible and my body is a temple!

Both of them practically fall over from shock. Hah. Underestimate my will … will you? Pesci, that just sounds weird. Before I can be chastised, scolded, or otherwise punished, we're interrupted by the screeching of tires.

"Well now. It looks like your friends have acquired some wheels." And acquired they have. As about a hundred or so feet away they pull out of an alleyway in a … van? "No way."

It's … **my** van! Even the license plate is the same! How in the name of all that is holy did these **hooligans** manage to get my van!

I don't know if I should kill them or kiss them. On one hand, they've stolen my property. On the other hand, they somehow fixed my property. I'm at a crossroads, so to speak.

All I know is that there's only one choice to make. I must regain what is rightfully–

"Stop staring at them and drive!"

… What? When did I get into this car? Whose car is this?

"Praetor? Are you alright?" Great, now Nero's worrying about me.

"Jeez, and I wanted to sit shotgun." Was … was that Rin's voice? Why is she complaining about such a trivial thing?!

I ignore the mumbles of our annoying third wheel and instead try my best to give a reassuring nod to Nero. She smiles, pleased that everything's alright.

"Are you ever going to hit the gas? They're getting away!"

I do so, slamming on the gas and … going nowhere.

"The parking brake!"

"Oh." I look at the offending mechanism. "Whoops." Well, this is embarrassing.

"Pull it!"

I reel on the backseat driver, whipping my head almost completely around so I can get a good glare in on her. "Listen here, you pain in the ass. If you know so much why don't you drive?"

Her shoulders slump and her head dips down ever so slightly. "I … don't have a license."

I'm stupefied. "You … don't have a license?" She's worried about something like that?! We're in a stolen car chasing a group of guys she just assaulted! Breaking the law is way down on my list of priorities right now.

"Like this, Praetor." Nero pulls the brake. While I'm still giving it the gas. Her attempt at being helpful results in me almost hitting my head on the steering wheel and Rin … smashing her forehead into the back of my seat. Ok, that deserves a high five.

"Good job, blondie." It dawns on me that such a nickname would be confusing. "The good blondie. Not the bad blondie that's in the backseat. Pesci, can't even buckle her seatbelt but worries about driving without a license. You have a strange set of priorities, Dragon Lady."

Might I add that Nero **did** buckle her seatbelt? Smart girl. She learns from experience.

"Dragon Lady?!" I can't say the same about the one in the backseat.

I ignore her, and her furious glare that's in the rearview mirror, and focus on driving. We've lost a lot of ground on the van but I can still see it over the horizon. Luckily this road is relatively flat. Otherwise, we would have undoubtedly lost them. And we're doubly lucky in this case because there just so happens to be relatively little traffic around. Must be a product of the time of day plus the recent happenings in the news.

Which leads me to my next question: "Rin, who are these guys exactly?"

She sits back in her seat. **Finally** buckling herself in. "To be honest, I don't have a clue."

"That's reassuring."

"But!" She points at me, obviously frustrated that I interrupted her. "I do know they were following me. Or you. Or Nero. One of us."

"Perhaps they are just admirers, Rin?" Nero, please. Everyone knows that a secret fan club has to have some badass outfits before they can consider themselves legitimate. And I don't know about you, but the whole 'Saint Francis of Assisi' look is definitely dated.

Rin, thankfully, ignores this. "I was content to just keep an eye on them, thinking that they'd eventually slip up and give me a clue as to what they were doing. But… they rushed me."

"An ambush," I state this matter-of-factly. Of course, it was an ambush. They just got more than they bargained for with that gamble.

"Precisely. I want to know why. It can't be a coincidence with the War going on."

"You think this is connected to the killings?"

I see her blink in the rearview mirror. "You actually know about those?"

"Yeah. They're on the local paper's front page practically every week."

"Who, under the age of sixty-five, reads the newspaper nowadays?" Stop it, woman! Don't make me feel old!

Nero pokes my shoulder. "What killings, Praetor?"

Rin interrupts. "We can discuss them, and the kidnappings, later."

"Hold up, kidnappings? What kidnappings?"

"Later." She practically barks at me. Yeesh, someone never learned proper manners.

"Alright, for now let's just focus on getting these …." I trail off as something in my peripheral vision catches my eye. It's … a clown? They're just standing there on the side of the road … menacingly. "Ronald McDonald?"

"Praetor!" Nero grabs the wheel and swerves it harshly to the right.

"Holy hell!" We just barely dodge the parked car I was veering into. She jerks the wheel back to the left, away from the oncoming traffic that was honking its horn at us.

I pull the car off of the road and put it in park.

"You almost got us killed, you idiot!" That's Rin. Screaming in my ear. Guess she wants to guarantee that I can hear her. "And we lost them! What were you doing?!"

"The … clown?" Both women stare at me in silence. They're downright confused as to what it is I'm talking about. Great, I sound like I'm insane.

I point in the direction in which I'd seen the aforementioned circusgoer only to find … nothing. There's not even a trace of them. No whoopie cushion or whipped cream pie in sight. Great, now **I** think I'm insane.

"Praetor … I did not see such a person."

"Neither did I. This isn't the time for jokes! Those guys just got away and–"

"I get it. I'm sorry. Maybe I'm just … tired."

Rin scoffs at that but Nero appears to actually take it seriously. "Perhaps, Praetor. You might have been drained more from our fight with that … horrid creature than we thought." 'Horrid creature'? Is she talking about that crazy Servant that came out of nowhere? Now that I think about it that kind of describes everything I've experienced from this War over the course of the past few days. Anyway, she's definitely talking about that crazy **female** Servant we faced.

I don't feel particularly drained. At least not when it comes to prana supply. I'm probably what you could consider mentally exhausted but that's more of a byproduct of having to deal with Rin than anything else. Regardless, I accept that hypothesis for Nero's sake. It's probably better than her thinking I'm hallucinating. Definitely more reassuring. "Yeah. You might have a point."

She nods, smiling contently at the thought that she's correct. "Of course I do, Praetor! You need to be more vocal of your needs! How else am I to care for you as your Emperor?"

At this point Rin sighs loudly, absolutely disgusted by how things turned out. "Saber, can't you catch them? A Servant should be more than able of–"

"Denied." I don't even face her, immediately rejecting such a suggestion without any hesitation. "And it's 'Heroic Spirit' not 'Servant'."

"Alright, first: they are effectively the same thing. Second: right now she's our best chance at resolving this situation quickly and without any further–"

Only then do I choose to turn towards her, giving her the best glare I have in my arsenal. "Are you deaf? I said 'no'. Saber's not leaving my side to go and chase some random stooges you picked a fight with." I'm not going to send her into a potential battle alone. Especially when doing so would place me alone with Rin. No thank you.

 _Praetor? I could–_

Thankfully, Nero's smart enough to respond to this suggested plan mentally and not audibly where Rin can hear our dialogue.

 _No. Remember what I said? The moment you think you're not going to be ambushed is when you're ambushed. If you go off on your own I'd undoubtedly be attacked. Or you would. Neither are outcomes I find agreeable. I'd rather we not divide our forces. Horror movies have told me that's always a bad idea. As did Abe Lincoln with his whole 'a house divided' spiel._

… _Very well, Praetor. I suppose I cannot find fault with you wanting me at your side at all times._

 _Ok, I didn't mean literally 'at all times'. I was just saying that–_

 _No, Praetor. I understand what you mean! I am your sword and without me you are unarmed. Without you, without my wielder, I am left unused. It is only to be expected that we should be together whenever possible. You are my other half. And I am yours! I would venture to say that we are soul–_

I tune her out, ignoring the rambling tangent she was undoubtedly going to go off on. I've already got enough of a headache as it is.

Rin brings me back to reality when she actually releases a stream of hot air from her mouth. Ok, maybe she was just exhaling a deep breath but it felt more like she was trying to breathe fire at me. 'Dragon Lady' does indeed seem like an epithet that fits her. "Can we just … head back? If Saber won't go after them we're not going to catch them at this point and I wanted to talk with you anyway." She gives me a piercing glare to confirm that the 'you' in that equation is me and not Nero.

I'm more than a bit miffed that she's being so demanding. "You know what? No. Why would I want to talk to you? Name me one good reason as to why I'd want to talk to the girl that kicked me in the–"

"I know the name of all but two Masters and the identity of three Servants." She pauses, sparing a glance in Nero's direction. "Not counting yours, of course."

Nero and I share a look. "You … know her True Name?"

Rin shrugs. "Yeah. Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of world history would know she's from Ancient Rome. Not only does she call you Praetor, but I've seen footage of her ranting and raving about the glories of 'Roma' more than a few times." Her face warps into a shit-eating grin. "And then she went and practically gave it away when she told me she reenacted Heracles'–"

"Hercules." Nero interjects at probably the worst possible moment, causing Rin to stare at her as if she's grown a second head.

"As I was saying. **Heracles'** feat of wrestling a lion. The Nemean lion, to be specific." That grin she's sporting develops into something even more monstrous … a smirk. She's copying my look! Stop it! I've got a copyright! It's trademarked! I'll sue you! "At least, that's what I would say … if I didn't already know before all of this."

"What." Nero and I say this in synchrony. I feel like I'm experiencing a villain's monologue up close and in person. It's … strangely riveting. And also, absolutely terrifying.

"You stole Shinji Matou's Servant and I know who the catalyst he had was meant to summon."

It dawns on me that she revealed something really important. Besides the fact that she knows Nero is, well, Nero. "Wait … did you just admit that you knew about the kid? So you knew all along that he was the one that caused that dump you call a house to get 'vandalized'! You tried to blackmail me with that weak shit!"

She shrugs and were it not for the crowded confines of this vehicle, and the fact that she'd likely kick my ass, I'd probably throw a punch her way. "Yes, but I figured guilting you into helping me would have worked." Rin sighs, her entire chest moving with the act. "Turns out I was wrong. You're even more shameless than I thought."

"You are a terrible person."

"I am sorry Rin, but I must agree with Praetor on this. Such deceitfulness is unbecoming."

Rin mumbles something under her breath. Vaguely, from the movement of her lips, I can determine she's saying something along the lines of "Not fair."

"So, what is it that you want? If it's got nothing to do with your house than what? What could you possibly need from me?"

"Answers."

Answers? "To what?"

"Questions, obviously."

 _Can I shoot her?_

 _I do not think this calls for bloodshed, Praetor. Yet._

Oh yeah! I got the 'yet'! We're a go, baby! Now all I have to do is hope that good things do indeed come to those that wait.

"Look, I'll explain everything when we get somewhere more … private. If you can answer the questions I have I'll provide you with everything I can on the other participants. That'll give you a significant edge going forward."

I turn towards Nero, trusting in her to give the final say on this. She just nods stiffly. Guess the whole 'deceit' thing rubbed her the wrong way. Regardless, if she thinks this is a 'good' idea I might as well go along with it. "Alright. We'll hear you out."

Rin crosses her arms, leaning back in her seat as she gives us a toothy grin. "Great. It's good to see some people still understand how valuable the right information is."

Oh, please. Take that cheesy line and shove it up your–!

I put the car into reverse and, unfortunately, I'm forced to make semi-eye contact with her as I back up. "This would have been a whole lot easier had you just come out and said all of this right out of the gates. Instead, you put us (mainly me) through a bunch of crap just to waste my time."

"To be frank, I didn't think you'd go along with it so easily. Everything I've read about you says you're not exactly a trusting guy."

"Everything you've read about me? Excuse me? What exactly have you read on me? Why is there even something for you to read on me?!"

Rin just waves these questions off, not commenting further and letting the topic drop as abruptly as it began. It's infuriating being ignored, but obviously she's not budging and I'm not going to get anything more from her at this moment. Hopefully whatever it is that she wants 'answered' is worth it to her. If it is I can probably negotiate for something more than just information on this War. Information like 'how the hell does she know about me?' And I'm not going to buy the 'I watched you on some CCTV footage for a few hours' excuse she gave us before.

"Fine. Be that way. Saber? We're heading back, alright?" Nero just nods, finding this acceptable. I can tell she's mulling over her thoughts just as I am. I can only hope she's focusing on the important aspects of this 'conversation' and not something inane.

* * *

I think I know what I'm going to do when this War's over. If I'm still alive that is. And if I decide to keep this crappy mansion. I'm going to make a driveway. From the road straight to the front door. Because a four-hour walk back and forth is bullshit. And not your generic, run of the mill level of bullshit. No. This is supreme bullshit!

What's worse is that Rin's been whining the whole walk. Or should I say 'crawl'. She's not exactly Speedy Gonzalez.

Nero's been acting as our guide … which was an awful idea because she gets sidetracked every ten steps when something in the forest catches her eye.

And me? Well I'm trying desperately to mentally put myself into 'sleep mode'. That is, I've been just daydreaming while walking. Completely ignoring my two associates as I trudge along in the middle of our little spaced out conga line.

We've been at this for, oh, I dunno three and a half or so hours? I kinda wish Rin would end up betraying us. Yes, I said it. I want her to do it right here and now. It'd make this a whole hell of a lot more exciting. Instead, we're just walking about. Marching our way back to base and silently crossing our fingers that someone won't end up ambushing us.

Yeah, I've got this down to a tee. If I keep thinking we're going to get ambushed we won't. It's just reverse psychology on a higher scale.

"It looks like we made it, Praetor."

"Ugh. Finally!" Rin throws her hands into the air in an act of visible frustration.

"Praetor, if you would like I could make you something else to eat? That might help you regain some of your energy."

As much as I don't want to, I force myself to shake my head. "No, that's alright. I can make something this time. It's only fair."

From behind us, there's a … growl? It sounds like something out of a documentary on the Discovery channel.

"Praetor … did you hear that?"

"Who wouldn't have? I'm not that deaf."

"Tell me, Praetor. Do they have lions here in Japan?"

What an odd question. "In the zoo, maybe? There shouldn't be anything like that in the 'wild'." Emphasis on the quotations. We're still technically just on the outskirts of the city's limits.

"Uh …." Rin, who up until this moment was uncharacteristically silent, pipes up. "That … was me."

Nero and I both stare at her in awe. She's poking her two index fingers together and smiling at us idiotically. That, along with the faint blush on her cheeks, tells me that she's embarrassed.

"Why the hell are you growling? You're not a Tiger." A cold chill goes down my spine the moment I utter that word. Strange.

In a second, Rin's embarrassment turns to anger. Anger directed at me no less. "I didn't do it on purpose! It was my … my …."

"Praetor? I believe what Rin is trying to say is that she is hungry and that it was her stomach that was grumbling."

"Are you sure? I find it more reasonable to assume that she's metamorphizing into some strange half-feline, half-human monstrosity."

"You–" This encourages the aforementioned 'monstrosity' to shake her fist at me angrily. Kind of like an angry grandpa that's screaming at you to get off their lawn. Just with less enthusiasm.

"Rin, fret not for you are the welcomed guest of an Emperor! Praetor, shall be more than willing to provide for you whatever it is you require. Isn't that right, Praetor?"

"Can I change my mind about being fair? You can cook if you want."

"Nonsense, Praetor. To do so know would be an insult to your capabilities. I trust you to be qualified at handling such a task."

"Oh Pesci." I can't help but sigh as I open the front door. Me and my big mouth.

Wait … something feels off … where is everyone?

The manor's empty. Or at least, I assume it's empty. Were the guys I requested to be here actually, well, here they'd undoubtedly be making a ruckus. Instead, the place it a ghost town.

I take a cautious step inside. "Saber. Be on guard." She nods once. Instantly accepting the potential threat we could be facing. Rin visibly tenses. Not really understanding as to why I've become serious but going along with it regardless.

"Hey! You guys here?" No response … at least, that's what I assume is what we'll hear. But, lo and behold, there is one. A very loud snore. So loud that it echoes throughout the room. "The hell?"

Rin, pushes me aside, waltzing into the house as if she owns the place, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. The location in which the sound originated from. Nero rushes to catch up with her, her sword already materializing as she prepares to face the potential enemy we could encounter. And me? I'm just a little flabbergasted. I asked them to watch my house … and they instead took a nap?

What am I paying these guys for?!

It's at this moment that my phone starts ringing. "Great. He beat me to the punch." I answer it, already knowing that it's probably Kaz. The only other people that could potentially be calling would be Kiara or possibly Taiga and neither is a big fan of phone calls. They prefer meeting face to face.

"Dante!"

"Don't 'Dante' me. Where are the guys I requested?"

Awkward silence greets me. I can hear him audibly swallowing his spit. "They, uh, got lost?" He says it more like it's a question than an answer. As if he himself doesn't know what happened to them. That's not promising.

"They got lost?"

"The GPS says they're in … Hinamizawa village …."

"Kaz?"

"Yeah?"

"How did they get that lost?"

"… I would assume in the same way Vasco de Gama did?"

I … I don't respond to that.

"So does this mean I can't make a Gundam?"

I just hang up on him. There's no need to continue the conversation from there.

"Pesci … I'm surrounded by idiots."

"What is this?!"

I sigh. That shrill screech was from Rin. "Great, this can't be good." I make my way to the kitchen, ignoring the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Is she slapping someone?

"Wake up!" Oh. That explains it. I'm stupefied by the sight before me. As is Nero. The both of us are standing stock-still at the entryway to the kitchen.

"Praetor?"

"Yeah?"

"I believe your men will find themselves disappointed."

That goes without saying. At the moment, I don't really care. The Matou kid somehow managed to break free. As to how he did it … well, I doubt I'll ever really know. But regardless, he escaped … and didn't exactly make it that far.

"He ate everything." The brat was comatose on the tile floor. Covered in crumbs and missed bits of food. Rin's currently slapping him silly, in what I can only assume is her best attempt at waking him.

"Why is he in your house?!" Apparently, she noticed that I was staring at her. Her sights shift from the kid to me.

"I told you I had him in my closet." The gig is up. There's no sense in lying and joking about would probably only infuriate her more.

"You said that was a joke!"

"I lied."

She makes this strange sputtering sound. It reminds me of the sound someone would make if they accidentally snorted a liquid instead of drinking it.

"Hey, you lied too. You tried to pretend you didn't know about him."

"Why was he in your closet?!" She practically snarls this at me. It's a good play. If I were less bold it'd probably make me bend the knee. Instead, I can only find it amusing. She completely avoided my rebuttal.

"He tried to kill me. And I can't kill kids. So, I figured placing him in time out would work just as well." I allow my gaze to drift over the unconscious boy's form. "Apparently, I was incorrect."

Rin releases a long, quite drawn out, sigh. Straight from the abdomen. Then she points an accusatory finger my way. Phoenix Wright style. But before she can lay into me, she's interrupted. Interrupted by a sound that even cuts past the obnoxious snoring of the Matou kid.

It's the sound of a stomach growling and all at once Rin's expression of righteous fury warps into one of mortification.

And the icing on the metaphorical cake is when Nero edges conspiratorially closer to me to whisper: "Praetor, I believe Rin is still hungry." Bless her heart.

"You don't say?" I don't even try to hide the sarcasm in my tone. Rin, hearing it, turns a particularly bright shade of scarlet.

"Ugh … why do I feel like I was hit by a train?" To further capitalize on the awkwardness, the kid's snores transform into whining. Yes, whining. His voice is about as pleasant on the (damaged) ears as the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

It takes him precisely three seconds before he realizes he's surrounded. I'm the first one he makes eye contact with and the result is a flurry of emotions dancing across his features. Fear. Anger. And … acceptance?

"Damn." I'm in awe of his eloquence.

"Yeah, I think that sums this up rather well." I cross my arms in my best impersonation of an angry parent. "Rin? I'm going to tie him up and toss him back in the closet. Any complaints?"

She blinks, not expecting me to ask for her opinion and completely caught off guard as to how to answer. That is, right up until her brain processes the absurdity of my question. "Of course I have complaints!"

"As do I!" The kid chooses that moment to pipe up, likely emboldened by the fact that someone's sort of standing up for him. He actually copies Rin's tendency to point her finger at me in indignation. Thankfully, he doesn't also copy how she rests her other hand on her hip while doing so. "Wait …." The tip of his finger droops. Just the tip. Which is … somewhat disturbing. I didn't need to know that he was double-jointed. "Rin?"

Rin jumps. Immediately losing that confident aura that surrounded her as her shoulders slump. She sighs. "Shinji …."

"Rin!"

"Shinji …."

"Rin!"

"Shin–"

"Will both of you idiots shut the fuck up?"

"Hey!" They do the exact opposite. Going back to pointing fingers my way.

"Saber? Would I have to use a Command Spell to get you to clobber them?"

"Mmm …." For a moment, I'm hopeful. Unfortunately, that moment is short-lived. "I am afraid I cannot, Praetor. It would be brutish of me to assault a child and a pretty girl." Oh well, it's still a pleasant surprise to see she didn't deny my request outright. I'd say that's progress.

"You can't sic **my** Servant on me, fool! Give her back to me or I'm going to–"

"Shinji?" Rin interrupts his threat.

"Yes, Rin?" And in return she's assaulted by puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip.

"Shut up." Yet still coldly manages to shut it all down.

"Yes Rin."

Nero and I watch the proceeding interaction with a mixture of amusement and confusion. "So not only did you know he existed. The two of you actually know each other?"

They share a glance. Nero and I do the same.

 _Do you finally see what I was talking about?_

 _What is that, Praetor?_

 _Rin. She's about as fishy as a month-old tuna casserole._

… ' _Casserole'?_

 _Oh for the love of– The Grail can't even tell you what that is?_

 _Praetor, you should know that it only informs us of subjects necessary for our integration in modern society. This 'casserole' you speak of is–_

 _Ok! I get it. It doesn't matter anyway. Just know that I was right and Rin is suspicious._

"Yes … we know each other."

"Rin? Why are you with this loser?"

Our two 'guests' answer consecutively. Well 'answer' is not entirely correct. Rin answers. 'Shinji' completely ignores my question and instead tries to ask Rin one of his own. I guess the whole 'shut up' thing was as short-lived as my own hopes and dreams?

"Shinji, I'm not 'with' anyone." Tell em, girl. You're a strong independent woman who don't need no man. "He–" She points a finger at me. "has information that I need. Or at least he should." Rin sighs. Again. Hey, at least she's giving her lungs a good work out. That's something to take away from this. "Shinji, why are you here?"

"He tied me up and threw me in a closet!"

"He tried to shoot me with my own gun. And failed. Miserably, might I add." I try my best to shout down his answer, raising my voice and responding just as he does. Unfortunately, I'm fairly certain Rin heard what he said. She's cracking her knuckles.

"Why … why did you lock a little boy in your closet?"

"Why do you have to say that like I'm Kevin Spacey?"

"Answer. The. Question."

 _Nero, you were a pretty good negotiator, right? I need you to answer her for me._

 _First off, Praetor. There is no 'were' about it. I_ _ **am**_ _still a good negotiator._ I can feel the pride beneath her words. It radiates from her mind like the toxic glow from nuclear waste. _And I would be happy to handle this. It is better if we address any misconceptions before they escalate. After all, I cannot allow your reputation to be tarnished unjustly. Can I?_

 _Oh thank Saint Browning._

 _Do no thank him, Praetor. Thank me!_

 _Thanks, Nero. You're a lifesaver._

 _That I am, Praetor! Just like the message you left for me said!_

Huh. She actually remembers that? How … nice.

"Mmm … Rin!" Nero goes into her combat stance. Actually draws her sword and all. I wish I was making this up. "I will not have you slandering my Praetor. The young Summoner there attempted to harm him and, while I did not entirely approve of it, Praetor handled the situation as best he could." She nods, smiling satisfactorily to herself. "I even aided him."

… Why did she have to add that last part? Why did she need to take credit? This isn't a thing you should willingly take credit for! A single name enters my mind: 'Sporus'. Pesci, I hope she was telling the truth when she said that was a lie. … Eh, who am I kidding? Nero wouldn't lie. Especially not to me. Most everyone else would but not Nero.

"Yes, we hefted the lad up the stairs. Praetor wrapped chains around him and then we tossed him within a small side room." Sometimes I wish she would. Or, at least, I wish she'd not say certain things.

"Hey, Nero?"

"Yes, Praetor?" Her voice is far too innocent. Far. Too. Innocent.

"Ixnay on the talk of idnappingkay ildrenchay."

"Praetor? Did you not wish for me to–?"

"Shh …." I physically place a finger upon her lips. "Shush. You're incriminating yourself. Don't do that. Especially when you're being interrogated."

"I wasn't interrogating her. I was asking you and apparently you're too much of a coward to–"

"Hey, Rin?"

She stops talking. "What?"

"Let's say you were theoretically a Master. What would you do if a random child who also happened to be a Master tried to kill you?"

And now she freezes. I can only assume the very blood in her veins in icing over. "Wha–?"

"Would you pat them on the back? Give them a cookie and a glass of milk? What about if that child Master just so happened to have been the original Master of your Servant? What then?"

Stage two of mental hypothermia sets in. Her eyes glaze over. Her mouth opens and closes. Repeatedly. "Y–you!" She looks at Shinji. Then she looks at Nero. "Summoned her!" Now she's looking back at me. "And you stole his Servant! After he summoned her! I thought you just stole the catalyst!"

I shrug. "He took too long to sign the contract with her so I did it in his place."

"No! You stole her before I could react!"

I shrug again. "He who strikes first wins."

"You didn't strike anything, you bastard! You cheated!"

I ignore him, setting my attention back onto Rin. "So, Rin. What would you do? Would you **only** incapacitate them? Would you **only** imprison them so they couldn't cause damage to themselves or others?"

She bows her head in defeat. "Fine. I get your point."

"Great! Now, Shinji, what would you do?"

The kid answers without missing a beat. Although he does look a little sour over being addressed directly by me. "I'd kill them."

And in that moment, there was harmony. Every one of us (sans Shinji) fell over from shock. I did my best to put our exact mutual opinion on his answer into words. "You are a goddamn idiot, boy." He just said he'd kill himself. No joke. He just admitted that were the roles to be reversed, he'd straight up slaughter himself.

"Who are you calling 'boy', asshole?!"

"Rin, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with 'me'?! What does this have to do with me?!"

"Well, you haven't been watching this kid at all even though you know him. Shouldn't you, I dunno, make sure he's with his babysitter and not running around alone?"

"I do not have a babysitter! I'm too old for one!"

"Enough!" Rin butts in again. "Shinji! Go back to Sakura!"

"But Riiinnn! I don't want tooooo!" Stop whining! Stop it! It's worse than Rin's nagging!

"No 'buts'! You lost your Servant so that means you're out of the War! Go home and forget about all this before another creepy Master locks you in their–"

"Ok, can we do this without the not-so-subtle jabs against me? We just established that–"

"Siiillleeennnccceee!" Rin shrieks at me like some ungodly banshee. "Sakura's probably worried sick about you Shinji! You need to go back."

"What about you? I'm not going to leave you alone with this … this … thug."

"Oi. I prefer the term 'civility-challenged', boy."

"Shut up!" They both scream at me. The sound so grating on the ears that Nero deems it best to pat me on the back comfortingly as a show of solidarity. I pat the hand she's using reassuringly.

 _Thanks, Nero._

 _Anytime, Praetor. Anytime._

"I can handle this guy on my own." I highly doubt that Dragon Lady but ok. "Besides, even if I couldn't it's not like you could do anything to help. You lost a Servant of the Saber class!"

"She was supposed to be Caesar!"

"The salad dressing?"

This time they don't even yell at me. I'm just granted a set of death glares.

 _Praetor … I hope that was a joke._

 _It was._

… _Alright. That is good. I would be disappointed if you did not know of him._

"Well, she isn't. And even if she was I doubt you'd fare any better. Go back to Sakura's and stay there. This no longer concerns you."

"But–"

"What did I say about 'buts'? Go Shinji." When he doesn't move she stomps her foot on the ground. A reinforced stomp, might I add. It cracks my tile floor. "Now!"

Shinji grumbles but begins waddling out of the kitchen. The kid's had to have gained at least ten pounds from eating all of Nero's food. He grumbles something under his breath along the lines of "fuck you, gigolo" as he walks past me. Charming.

We all watch as he goes. All the while I'm questioning as to whether or not it's a good idea to let a potential enemy who happens to have a motive for killing me just leave. But hey, it's not like I can do anything. I can't kill a kid. And I can't lock him back up now that Rin's in the know. I guess I could break his legs and pray that it'd be enough to hold him back but … something tells me that would deteriorate my already shaky relationship with Rin.

Slowly he makes his way to the front door. Stopping to look back every three steps only to grumble and keep walking when Rin barks his name. It's a pitiful sight. In any other context, I'd likely sympathize with him. But in this case? No. He's a little shit.

Eventually, he makes it to the door and again he hesitates to actually leave. You'd think he'd want to beat it after the treatment he'd received but … wait a second … he ate all of Nero's food. Scratch that, the food alone made this place a five-star hotel in comparison to anything else. Hell, I can almost understand why he'd be disappointed to go.

"Open the door, Shinji."

"Yeah. Open the door, Shinji." My attempt at parroting his whiny voice earns me a glare from Rin, a sigh from Nero, and a one-finger salute from the kid we're banishing.

He shrugs after that. In what I can only assume is an 'I don't need this shit' gesture. Then he opens the door.

"Wha–?"

And immediately we're swarmed with fog.

Or rather, it's what I assume to be fog. The manner in which it enters the house makes it appear to be more like a liquid than anything else. It's a tsunami that washes away everything in its path. Including Shinji.

He's consumed by the stuff. One second, I can see him and the next all I can see is the tip of his head. His hair makes it look like there's a piece of blue seaweed peeking out from the fog's tidal wave. At least, it does for a moment. Then he's gone. Without even so much as a scream.

I instinctively dive for that gas mask I'd left behind. The Israeli one. I don't know what this is but it's obviously not natural. There's the potential of it being poisonous and right now the best chance I have of avoiding such toxic fumes is that gas mask. Of course, there is only one. Nero doesn't need one. Which means Rin is just out of luck.

Now, in the event that it's something worse, something far more complex than just toxin, we're likely all dead. There's simply no time to flee. By the time I make it to the mask I'm enveloped by the fog.

I hold my breath just long enough to slip the mask over my face. A quick check of the filter (attempting to breathe while I cover its exhale port with one hand) signifies that it should, theoretically, be safe to breathe. That small comfort does little to help.

I can't see Shinji, despite him disappearing literally twenty feet in front of me. Though, I suppose this isn't saying much. I can't even see my hands when I hold them out in front of me. It's like something out of a Stephen King novel.

What's worse is the silence. Both in the physical and mental realm. I can't hear anything around me. Nor can I hear Nero in my mind. She should be asking me what happened. She should be concerned. Shouldn't she? I have no doubt they must have seen me vanish in the fog. Unless … maybe it hit them just at it hit me? Does that mean Nero and Rin are in this with me?

I know Shinji is. Somewhere.

What's worse is that I can't communicate with Nero. Is that why I haven't heard anything from her? Maybe she can't say anything? Ugh, it's almost like there's static crackling in the back of my brain. Is it a product of this fog? Did I accidentally inhale some of it? Is it capable of entering my skin? If that's the case I'm fucked. I would have needed some sort of hazmat suit to avoid being contaminated and … well … even if I did have one the rate at which the fog overcame me meant it would have been impossible to put it on before exposure.

All of these questions are … troubling to say the least. I can only assume this is an enemy attack. As to whether or not it's the work of a Master or a Servant is anybody's guess. The excess of raw magical energy in the air tells me this is at least related to Magecraft in some way and not entirely biological/chemical.

Which makes this all even worse. Everything becomes more complicated when Thaumaturgy becomes involved. At best, I would have been alright with a protective suit. At worst, I would have been screwed regardless. Either way, right now I'm up shit creek without a paddle.

I start walking back to what I think is the direction of the kitchen. Again, it's almost impossible to know where I'm going with how thick this fog is. This is fog, right? It's too thick to be mist but–

 _Eheheheheheheh._

Giggling. Or … snickering? It's a bit hard to tell. The fog muffles the sound. Which, considering the state of my hearing already, does me no good. It's an unnerving noise and yet I still can't say it's unwelcome. At least this means audible sound still exists in this … whatever I'm in.

A Bounded Field, perhaps? One that can be used in an offensive manner and not purely for defense? Such things exist but tend to be easily countered. For them to use it so boldly … they must have known the mansion's defensive measures were lacking.

Does that mean they scouted the land out before attacking? Or did they just assume I lacked the skill to create anything that would have detected if not outright halted this?

So many questions ….

And not enough time to come up with any answers.

 _Eheheheheheheheheheheheheh. Eheheheheheheheheh._

The laughter comes in a set this time. I can distinctly hear two different voices behind it. They sound like children though I can't completely discern whether or not they're female, male, or a combination of the two. What I can discern is that this is creepy as all hell. Scratch the remark I made regarding this being like a Stephen King novel. This is more like something out of a Silent Hill game.

The only thing I can do is ignore the giggling and push forward. All the while I continue to have that hazy, staticky feeling at the back of my mind. It's like my brain is itching or something. I can't place exactly what this feeling is but I do know I don't like it one bit.

Maybe I didn't put the gas mask on right? That could be it. It's probably just too tight and, because of this, it's squeezing my head and restricting blood flow.

I can probably manage to loosen it a little–

… Where's the gas mask?

I'm not wearing it.

I'm not wearing it.

I'm. Not. Wearin–

 _Eheheheheheheheh. Eheheheheheheh._

"Fuck you, you little shits!" The outburst comes unexpectedly. Sudden displays of vulgarity aren't exactly uncommon for me but that … that just felt out of place. It didn't feel like it was **me** saying that. It felt like someone else was. It's like I'm having an out of body experience. I don't feel safe even in my own skin. Even my own thoughts are starting to feel … alien. Kinda like listening to someone else's internal monologue instead of your own.

To make matters worse it feels like I haven't gone anywhere in my journey. I've walked enough to have made it into the kitchen and yet I can't see anything besides … trees?

Yeah. Trees. For a second, I think it's just a case of me going in the wrong direction. Maybe I went outside instead of into the kitchen? But … no … that's impossible. These trees look … wrong. Nothing like the kind outside the mansion.

For one, they don't have any leaves. They also don't have any bark. And their branches don't do anything you'd see a typical tree's do. They don't split or segment off, no they're just straight and pointy. I feel like I'm looking at stakes and not trees. The very basic, barebones nature of these plants make them appear almost crystalline in nature. Far from the normal, natural trees you'd see in your usual forest.

That sole cherry blossom I left behind in that park symbolized the exact opposite of what these 'trees' do. It stood for beauty and elegance. Resistance against the pushing tides of time and an unwillingness to accept a society changing around it. These trees? All they represent is lifelessness. Looking at them makes me feel like I'm in a children's drawing. Either that or some sort of odd ice world. Pesci, all I need is for some kid to ask me if I want to build a snowman right now.

The good news is that the fog's begun to dissipate. The bad news is that now all I'm left with is these weird trees and something that looks like (but isn't) snow on the ground. I can confirm it isn't because no snow that I know of remains solid when you pick it up off the ground. Usually, it'll melt from the heat of a person's body. Which is another thing to note. This snow isn't cold.

There's a light flurry around me but I can't feel any breeze. Everything just remains … static.

Wait … what am I even doing here? Wasn't I supposed to be looking for someone? Why am I standing around in the snow staring at trees?

… Who was I supposed to be looking for anyway? I … I can't remember. Vaguely I can recollect that it's a woman. She's got … green eyes. That's … that's all I can recall!

I can't remember her name. Her overall appearance. Her relationship to me. The reason I'm looking for her. The reason I'm here. Where **here** even is. All of it! All of it is gone!

I … I can remember my name though!

"Thomas Victors."

That's my name! I still have that! But … it doesn't even mean anything. It's just a name. I … I can't remember anything else. Do I have a family? Friends? A job? A … a lover? I don't know! It's all gone!

"Thomas Victors." It's the only thing I have. It's the only thing rooting me to this existence. That and the fact that I'm looking for a woman (I think) with green eyes. Christ, that really tells me a lot.

Vaguely, I feel like I've been through worse than this. I don't know where that reassurance comes from but I can be certain it's not from my mind. My entire brain feels like mush. It feels as if, were I to allow it, I could drift off into oblivion and wander around this strange land thinking about nothing but fake snow and odd not-trees.

But I can't. For I have got a name and a purpose. I have to find this woman with green eyes. Maybe she can remind me? Maybe she can clear this all up?

That settles it! I'll keep walking until I find this woman.

I start on my path. The 'snow' underneath my feet is … squishy? It feels like I'm walking on pillows rather than any kind of snow.

The trees part … no, no they didn't move at all. They were like that always. I just didn't notice the rest of this world. There are tiles floating in the air. They look to be made from book covers. Floating beside them are these … unique shapes. Spheres connected to one another by rods. They look like enlarged molecules.

I give these things nothing but a passing glance and a moment of thought. I have to keep going forward. There's no other option at this point. It is just what I must do. For my name is Thomas V–

Thomas ….

Thomas! My name is Thomas and I have a quest to complete! Find the person with green eyes!

There's what looks to be a castle ahead of me. How odd. It's shaped in the image of a woman's figure. If that woman were to be wearing something like a ball gown with a hat upon her head that appeared to be a set of spires squished together.

Obviously, this is the place I must go to. It was there all along! It certainly didn't appear out of thin air! That's just my mind playing tricks on me. Everything here is normal. My name is Tommy and I have to find a person with eyes. Yes, a person with eyes!

Let's just head to that castle and– _oof_

Something hits me in the back. And … grabs me from behind? Without warning, I'm lifted off of the ground and whisked away. I get a brief look at my kidnapper. It's a girl. She's got reddish-pink hair, piercing blue eyes, and … horns?

"We meet again, Pig. Although … that lost look on your face makes you seem more like an innocent little Lamb than anything else."

A rather high-pitched voice responds to my inquisitive stare. Why does it sound like she knows me?

"Do I … know you?"

Her brow creases, and for a second, I almost think she's going to drop me. She does much worse. She starts complaining. "Wah?! You're telling me you don't remember me?!"

I blink, using the pause it allows to fabricate a worthy response. "I would think I'd remember someone with an appearance as … striking as yours." For a while, I do nothing but stare at her face. Trying, and failing, to put a name to her.

This, for some reason, causes her to blush. "Stop staring at me! It's creepy!"

"Oh. My apologies. Your eyes are very beautiful."

That only escalates things. "Eh?!" She squeals in surprise, and again I'm almost dropped.

"Yes, their color reminds me of a cloudless sky and it's fascinating how you can somehow capture both a level of intensity and innocence within your gaze."

"S-s-s-top saying those kinds of things! We're enemies!" She starts stuttering uncontrollably.

"Are you sure? I was looking for someone in these woods and you just so happen to fit the description." She's a person … I think. And she has eyes. We've already established that as being true.

"You weren't looking for me! I was looking for you!"

"Why?"

"I don't know! My Master told me to!"

'Master'? What have I stumbled across? "Well … then I suppose I'm in their debt. As well as yours."

"That's right you are!"

I ignore the … enthusiasm in her tone. As well as the twinkling in her eye. Neither is reassuring. Not with the talk of 'Masters' involved.

"By the way, where are we going?"

She doesn't make eye contact with me anymore, instead focusing on the path ahead of her as she carts me off. "Out of this fog. It does something to your mind."

Oh? Maybe that's why my head hurts?

"I'm going to drop you off on the outskirts of this forest. You should be safe there."

"Thank you."

She doesn't respond, instead she hides behind her bangs so I can't see her features.

I'm about to ask her what her name is when she finally pipes up. "Why are you so nice all of a sudden?!"

'All of a sudden'? I'm not sure as to what she's talking about? She seems to still think I know who she is. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I appreciate the compliment though."

My reward for this gratitude is her choking on … something. Surprise, perhaps? Or maybe disgust? "Y-y-y-y-ou!"

"Yes, me. I don't believe we've been formally introduced yet, have we?" I give her the best smile I can manage, though she still avoids looking straight at me. "My name is Tommy."

An entire smorgasbord of emotions streak across her face. I can see this because, in her momentary loss of composure, she's looking at me head-on. Let me see … there's shock, confusion, various other forms of befuddlement, relief, depression, anger, happiness … and that's only to name a few. It's odd to see someone so shook up over a name.

"Did I grab the wrong guy?" She mumbles this to herself but her distinct voice and inability to speak in an inside voice makes it easy for me to pick up what she's saying.

"And you are?" I almost feel eager to learn her name. Surely, it's only customary for one's savior to exchange their identity with the person they've saved. How else would I be able of proclaiming their virtues? Let alone pay them back for this act of selflessness.

"Berserker." She says it quickly, almost as if she doesn't want me to hear.

But I do hear, and I have to say it's not what I expected. "You don't look like a 'Berserker'."

"I am! Eh– I mean, it's my name! What more do you want?!"

I smile once more. "Nothing. If that's your name, that's your name. It's a pleasure to meet you, Berserker."

She grumbles and again tries to slip by my hearing with a mumbled: "You don't mean that." A forlorn expression overtakes her entire visage and … I really don't know how to respond. It just feels like trying to cheer her up would be a terrible idea. She'd probably assume I was being insincere and right now I wouldn't have any way of confirming my genuineness besides my word itself.

Which likely wouldn't mean much to her. We have just met after all.

"I promise that I'll prove you wrong." It comes out suddenly. So suddenly that I don't even realize that I've said it until I see her turn her head towards me. We're still zipping by those odd trees (she's actually using the floating tile as a path), going in the opposite direction of that castle. I can't even see it in the distance anymore.

"You promise?"

"Of course." Again, it comes naturally. Despite me not actually knowing what it is I'm promising or having any fraction of an idea as to how I'd accomplish it were I to in fact know. All I know is that my name is Tommy and that I'm being carried through a strange forest by an even stranger girl.

My past is gone. I'm utterly baffled by what's going on in the present. And I have no idea as to whether or not I'll even live to see a future with the way things are going.

But … it's oddly calming not knowing. It's like a weight I never knew existed has been lifted off of my chest. I don't know what's scarier. The not remembering or the knowing that whatever it is I'm supposed to remember would cause me this much discomfort.

I guess I must have appeared to be dozing off. Because, before I know it, she interrupts my thoughts. "Hmm? Very well, Lamb. If you wish to rest I will not stop you. Know that I, the number one idol in the world, will ensure your safety."

Despite the mention of idols … I can't help but find what she says to be reassuring. So, reassuring that I do indeed give in to the need to sleep. What good would it be for me to stay awake? I feel positively drained. Whether this is a product of the forest and its fog or simply a result of whatever event occurred before all of this is unknown. All I do know is that I'm tired and there's no need for me not to indulge a little.

A short nap wouldn't hurt, would it?

* * *

 **AN: Originally, I wanted this chapter to come out within two months. We missed that window by about a week but I'm at least pleased I managed to get this out before a third month went by. This is pretty much the chapter in which things start to spiral out of control. From here on out the plot is going to pick up significantly and we're going to be seeing a lot less of those "fluffy" moments we've had up until now. This is more or less the first "arc" of the story and it's going to feature the first of the many antagonists we're going to see pop up. This will likely also be the shortest "arc" as (unlike in future battles) there's going to be very little prepping involved.**

 **Now, onto the reviews!**

 **Gundam-Knight-Chris: Glad to hear you enjoyed it! I tried to cram in as many alternative outfit references in this chapter as possible because it's probably going to be the last chance we have to address them.**

 **SMV Aria2: I'm happy to say that your wait time has been more than halved!**

 **TheTrueOverlordBear: The answer to your questions is ... none of the above lol. Gatou (the multi-religious monk) did sort of show up. I believe it was in Chapter 3 that Dante managed killing him prior to the war's start. I didn't really enjoy doing that to him but my limited knowledge of Tsukihime would make bringing in Arcueid a nightmare. Sadly, Lu Bu and Rani are going to get a similar treatment. With Lu Bu not ever being summoned and Rani having a very limited role in this story if any. Which is something I'm sure will disappoint many. Especially with how she was treated in Last Encore. Anywho, enough potential spoilers! I wish you the best too!**

 **LukeSky001: I cannot either agree or disagree with that. Mainly because I'm waiting for it to be complete before I start reading it XD.**

 **Lady Vanatos: She indeed is. Almost as good as Tamamo XD.**

 **Jajo Camello: Now this is one of the things I'm trying to avoid. The dreaded "character learns something only to forget it next episode" cliche. My end goal is to have some form of character development occur in each of our cast members. Dante's never going to be at a level in which he can beat a Servant by himself (in this story at least). So we will never be seeing any of the shenanigans Seig pulled. At best Dante would be capable of stalling for time. In fact, it may sound a little underwhelming, but I plan on Dante having to rely on others to win fights for him. He'll be less combat focused and more about what comes before and after the battle. Masters are another story though. There's a few that Dante would absolutely be capable of crushing and a few that would be capable of doing the same to him. Your suggestion for the Diarmuid story is pretty much exactly the kind of dynamic I'm picturing for them. Ultimately though, their loyalty to one another would avoid many of the problems brought about by having Kayneth as the Master and allow for a bit of compromise to be had (such as Dante allowing Diarmuid to have his final duel with Arturia). I'm not entirely sure as to what I'd do with a Kirei story but I do know I want to feature him in some fashion going forward (as I actually like him a lot as a character) and I was disappointed with how they treated Assassin in Zero (she got killed off so easily). Whether or not Dante would be the Servant is up for grabs but I do like the thought of someone different (with more personality) influencing Zero Kirei into becoming something else. Which is why I enjoyed the Infamous Man's 'Just An Unorthodox Thief' as much as I did. And on the subject of Nero ... 'Nero the artist' was hilarious lol. I can definitely see why you'd see some similarities between that Nero and Schizoid Man's. It wasn't entirely intentional, but I do think I've written her (and other characters) a tad OOC here and there for comedic effect. My goal for her is ultimately to combine aspects of our (historical) Nero and the one Nasu gave us in Extra.**

 **Darebear the bear: So as to avoid spoiling things (by running my mouth lol) I'm just going to say that you'll be seeing who the child/children will be in the foreseeable chapters. As in, within one or two chapters. I will say one thing though: they're a character we see in Last Encore. Anyways, Amari was ... how do I put this? Pointless? Unnecessary? I can agree that the writers really missed an opportunity with her. From what I can gather most of her development is on a Drama CD. Which was a terrible idea. We get so little of her in Last Encore that I can't even fathom as to why they added her. Her summoning Mata Hari is a good guess. Personally, I like to think she summoned Medb (both have pink hair). We won't be seeing Watcher in this as it'd be kind of difficult to write him/her/them accurately before Strange Fake is finished. We will be seeing some of Claudia and Simon though. It'll just be a product of me abusing dream sequences lol. Oh, and your idea for Joan being summoned by Kirei sounds a lot like what I was imagining with Kirei summoning Jeanne. Minus keeping Gilles as a Caster and having her become Jeanne Alter after being exposed to the Grail.**

 **blazerforce: Good to see someone from the GEGE era back again! I can only hope that Schizoid Man's been better in comparison :D. You bring up a really good point though. I'll admit, I'm also a little frustrated with how the pacing's been in this story. A lot's been happening to Dante but he's not really done anything (or at least much) by his own choice. This'll be changing going forward. In the next few chapters it'll be more of the same (Dante reacting instead of acting) but after that we will get to see him be much more proactive. Particularly when it comes to the issue of Vlad and Run Ru.**

 **And as a final note to everyone: I don't know if this would interest any of you but I'm looking for someone who'd be willing to commission a profile picture for this story. If you or anyone you know would be interested, send me a PM.**


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